Espionage
by Janieshi
Summary: "'I won't let anything happen to you,' he said solemnly, standing up again just a few feet away from her. 'I promise.'" Pre-series character study of the relationship between Roy and Riza as young teens, spoilers for manga and anime.
1. Prologue

**Espionage**

* * *

"The 'boy?' Ah, do you mean your young nephew?" As he spoke, the man raised a questioning eyebrow at his female companion. She nodded briskly and pushed a lock of her thick, wavy hair behind one ear.

Although no one would've described the woman as pretty, there _was_ something about her—a quality she possessed that made people stop and take a second look. She was certainly _striking_: tall, with broad shoulders and generously lush curves, that glossy black hair tumbling all down her back, and shrewd dark eyes that seemed always to see more than what was on the surface.

Madame Christmas, as she chose to be called professionally, was currently perched on a bar stool in her newly opened establishment, her long legs crossed demurely at the ankle and her fingers tangled in a long silvery necklace. At first glance, Chris Mustang looked no older than the girls she employed. Her crow's feet and frown lines were expertly concealed under a heavy layer of makeup, which gave her the appearance of a flawless complexion. The man sitting beside her only knew how old she _really_ was because he'd once looked up her birth certificate while checking into her background, and even he had been surprised. As he knew all too well, it was not wise to underestimate this woman.

Keeping that in mind, he tapped his fingers pensively against the glass she'd set in front of him only a moment before. He had a feeling he knew where she was headed with the "casual" mention of her nephew's interest in the sciences.

"Let me guess, the young man has his heart set on learning alchemy?" he said, picking up the glass at last. Chris pursed her plump crimson lips and shot him an unreadable sidelong glance. He took a sip of his drink to hide his smile. She hadn't expected him to see through her quite so quickly.

Brigadier General Grumman had discovered his affinity for the political aspects of his job early on in his military career. Learning to recognize pretense, discovering the hidden truths mixed in with the lies, dancing around a topic so that both parties understood what was being offered without actually committing themselves to anything officially—he honestly _enjoyed_ the little games that were played on a daily basis. He was very good at what he did, so sometimes he couldn't really help but use those observational skills even in the most mundane situations. Plus, it was fun to throw someone as skilled as Chris off-balance every now and again.

"You've got it," she admitted. "Roy's fallen in love with the subject. He's been trying to teach himself as he goes along, but he's had to squeeze alchemy in between his regular classes at the secondary school, so he hasn't gotten very far." Chris gestured to the necklace she'd been toying with a moment earlier. "Little brat made this thing for me out of some scrap metal the other day," she snorted derisively. "I told him it was shoddy craftsmanship, but he didn't seem all that put out."

I'll just bet she did too, thought Grumman, hiding another smirk.

"And he wouldn't shut up until I at least tried it on," Chris was saying. "If it turns my skin green, I'll have his hide."

But Grumman noticed that her eyes had gone soft. And then there was the fact that she was still _wearing_ the necklace. Underneath that cold and calculating exterior, they both knew she loved the kid fiercely and would do anything for him.

"So," she continued crisply, interrupting this train of thought. "As you're in the military, I'm sure you are acquainted with plenty of state certified alchemists. Do you know of any that would be willing to take on the brat for a pupil?" No sense in beating around the bush now that he'd called her out, after all. Grumman hesitated a moment, and Chris shifted slightly on her stool. With studied indifference, she added: "And the cost isn't an object. His parents left money enough to cover his schooling."

This time Grumman didn't bother to hide his smirk. Whether that statement was true or not, he was absolutely certain that Chris and her girls would willingly pool their own carefully hoarded resources to send the boy to a private tutor if need be. The boy was well and truly spoiled by those hard-eyed beauties. He'd seen how their faces lit up when the kid came around—they all adored him. Even the boy had to have noticed this weak spot by now. He referred to them as his older sisters, for pity's sake.

Clearly the apple didn't fall far from the tree, Grumman thought. If things continued as they were now, young Roy might grow up to become as manipulative as his foster mother. And if he _did_, he'd make an excellent heir to his aunt's little information-gathering spy ring. She'd collected a tight knit and loyal group of girls with just the right combination of brains and sex appeal, and she was always on the lookout for new talent. Her girls loved and respected her, and she looked out for their best interests, though she ruled them with an iron fist. It would be just like her to be grooming a teenage boy to take over for her someday, he mused.

"Well…" Grumman cleared his throat, stalling for time. An idea had occurred to him the moment the word 'alchemy' had been mentioned, and he had still not decided within himself whether it was a good one. "I do know of someone," he said at last, hesitantly. "But…this person isn't a state certified alchemist. He's actually a bit of a recluse; lives in a little farming town up north. But according to my sources, he's extremely talented." Chris only tilted her head, listening carefully. "In fact, the military has been trying to recruit him for years. He keeps refusing them no matter how much money they offer. He's apparently a specialist in elemental alchemy. According to the rumors, his particular area of expertise is fire."

"I can see why the military would be interested in him, then," Chris said thoughtfully, displaying her immediate grasp of the implications of such a specialty. She always had been a sharp one, Grumman thought as he chuckled.

"Yes, he would be quite the asset, if only they could convince him that their intentions are pure." Which, of course, they weren't. "Anyway, I'm certain that if you were to write to him about your boy," Grumman continued, "this particular alchemist would accept him as a pupil, at least on a trial basis."

"Trial basis?" she echoed.

"Well, if all the rumors are true, he's an exacting man, only willing to exert himself to teach those who show significant talent, if not outright genius."

"If he's such an exacting man, I'm surprised that he'd accept pupils at all," she said, a slight frown appearing on her carefully made-up face.

"Yes; even _those_ students he only accepts because of his precarious financial state. He's sunk into a sort of genteel poverty since his wife's death a few years back. He needs the income from boarding pupils to get by."

"Did the wife come from money, then?"

"No, not at all. It was a love match, pure and simple, or so I understand. There was supposed to be a bit of family money on his end once, but when she fell ill, what little they had went towards her medical care. You know, special doctors and new-fangled medicines and the like. Bled him dry, and the effort was futile in the end anyway."

Chris was listening intently, and she had known Grumman for quite some time, so she caught the slight catch in his voice others would've missed. As she focused those sharp dark eyes on his face, he took a too-casual sip of his drink, giving himself away even further by refusing to meet her eyes. Why did this man's story bother Grumman so?

"Since he lives in a small town and won't work for the military, he accepts students he'd rather not waste his time on, for the money they bring in," she said. Although it was a statement rather than a question, Grumman nodded in response, aware that she was still watching his face closely. He'd have to be careful not to slip up again.

"Precisely. He's willing to take students occasionally, as they pay for their lessons, room, and board. And then he takes on the odd village job here and there, as alchemists usually do, but…his neighbors are simple folk, and many of them still pay in things like barrels of cider and bushels of wool. He seems to live on that pittance and not much else, though. Such a waste of talent," Grumman sighed. "Anyway. It won't be easy on your boy. If the kid doesn't show promise, he'll probably be thrown out after a few weeks. But he should at least be able to learn how to transmute you something prettier than that tin-can travesty," he chuckled, hooking Chris's necklace out of the valley of her ample cleavage with one long finger and giving it a playful little tug.

"Hmm. Well, perhaps we'll try it out and see how the boy handles himself," she said, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in her dress. "Now then. Don't play coy with me, old man. How much will I owe you for being my information broker?" Grumman just laughed.

"Suppose you do something for me in return for the contact information, my dear?"

Here it comes, Chris thought, already mentally skimming through her stable. Even before she'd officially had her own place, Grumman had "borrowed" her girls before. Usually it was to play the air-headed companion to some wealthy politico who needed to be distracted by something pretty and fluffy while the real work was taken care of behind the scenes, safely away from inept interference. Her girls were adept at the acting, and were always happy to be wined and dined at expensive restaurants for such a cause.

"What's the mission, then?" was all she said.

"It's about this alchemist that the boy will be studying with. I want the kid to report to me once he gets there—to tell me anything he can about the man. What his home is like, how he acts, what kind of teacher he is, that sort of thing." It was Chris's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"The boy is still very young, Grumman. I don't know if he's quite ready for espionage." Though she was trying very hard not to show it, Chris had gone extremely tense.

"I'm not really asking him to spy, per se," Grumman said quickly. "This man isn't dangerous. I'm not looking for deep political secrets or scandalous behavior, or anything half so sinister. It's not a case of sending a man behind enemy lines. I merely have a—_personal_ interest in him. Because of his reclusive habits, I haven't been able to learn anything on my own. I expect the information gathered by the boy will be of the most mundane kind. And I can assure you that your nephew won't be in any danger living under this man's roof." Chris shot him a sharp look, letting Grumman know that _she_ knew that he was hiding something from her.

"He'd better not be, old man," she said gruffly. "I once made a foolish promise to my big brother that I would look after his boy if he passed before I did. I won't have him haunting me from beyond the grave for letting something happen to his precious son on my watch," she huffed, trying and failing to conceal the ferocity of her mother-bear instincts.

Grumman waited sedately, his hands folded, while Chris deliberated. He knew full well that she'd only give him an answer once she'd finished her internal debate, and not a second before. Chris slid off the stool, made her way behind the bar, and refilled Grumman's nearly empty glass. Then she floated gracefully across the room, to check on the other patrons frequenting her establishment at this early hour. He had always admired the way she moved—in spite of her height and those bounteous curves, Chris glided along the floor like a dancer, elegant and poised. Regal.

He sighed and reached for his drink. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned this alchemist idea after all…it was a huge gamble to involve anyone else in his personal concerns, even someone as discreet as Chris, whom he trusted _almost_ wholeheartedly. But what other option did he have?

It was several minutes later, just when Grumman was starting to feel anxious, that Chris slipped back into the stool at his side and leaned forward to rest her elbows against the bar. Then she shot him the wolfish grin he knew so well, dark eyes sparkling with interest.

"How about this—we'll have the kid keep a journal," she said in her sultry voice. "I'll convince him that he ought to write everything down: his impressions, what he's learning, what the town is like, all that. Tell him it's for my girls, most of whom never made it past primary school themselves. We'll have him send the journal entries home once a month, or once a week, or whatever suits you. It's a win-win: the letters will keep the girls from missing the brat too much while he's away, and he'll be able gather intel without compromising himself, since he won't know that there's anything TO compromise in the first place. Of course, you'll have to allow the girls to read everything through pretty thoroughly first. Will that do?"

God, she was brilliant.

"Chris, my dear, if I were a younger man I'd marry you," Grumman announced.

"And if you were a richer one, I'd let you," she smirked in reply.

"His address," Grumman said, sliding a slip of paper across the bar. "Good luck, Madame Christmas. I'll be in touch."

She waited until he had his hand on the door before she unfolded the paper.

"Berthold Hawkeye, hm?" Chris whispered as the door thudded closed behind Brigadier General Grumman. "What exactly are you hiding from me, old man?"

* * *

**And so I submit, with much fear and trembling, a little something with which I have been playing for quite some time (actually, I'm ashamed to say for exactly _how_ long...but at least since _Prelude_, which references later chapters of this story). ****The idea, of course, is to play around with the pre-series Roy/Riza relationship as the young tweens they probably were when they first met.**

****Update: All right, I've decided to go ahead and make this into a proper multi chapter fic. Thanks very much for your feedback! (You know who you are ;D )**

**x****oxo Janieshi**


	2. First Entry

**First Entry, April 10**

* * *

It was such a small town that if the train hadn't stopped, he might have blinked and missed it as they passed by.

_But maybe that's a good thing, _Roy Mustang thought, _since I'm not exactly sure where I'm supposed to go. If there aren't very many people living 'round here, then surely they all know each other…maybe one of them can give me directions?_

Fumbling with his small suitcase, the teenager asked an elderly woman waiting on the platform if she happened to know where Berthold Hawkeye lived. She did, and kindly gave him detailed instructions for how to find the house, even referring to a particular flock of sheep as a landmark. Roy swallowed his laughter and made a mental note to mention it in his first letter to his "sisters."

_I guess I'm really not in the city anymore, huh?_ he thought, as the woman said goodbye and wished him luck with a pitying kind of look like she assumed Roy wouldn't survive the week. _So all the rumors about Master Hawkeye being a demanding teacher must be true…But I'm going to try my very best, and learn everything that I can from him for as long as he'll have me!_ Roy vowed, fire in his eyes.

It was rather late in the afternoon, so the sun had nearly set by the time he'd walked to the house on the outskirts of the town. The place was enormous, and Roy could see that it must have been grand once. Now, however, it seemed faded and shabby—all peeling paint and missing roof shingles, with dark empty windows frowning down at him. He later learned that the windows were kept covered by heavy velvet curtains, to ensure the inmates of the house privacy.

The front yard looked as though it hadn't been tended to in years. The plants were all growing wild and unchecked, which lent them a certain kind of melancholy beauty in the dusky twilight. Awed in spite of himself, Roy picked his way through the weeds and wild grasses that had once been a lush lawn and knocked resolutely on the door.

From what his aunt had told him, Roy assumed that the reclusive Berthold Hawkeye wasn't the type of man to keep a hired servant. He was surprised, then, when a young woman (girl, really, nearer his own age) opened the door. For a split second, he wondered whether he'd mistaken the directions after all and ended up at the wrong house. But then the girl welcomed him in a soft voice, and introduced herself as Miss Hawkeye. Roy decided she must be related to his teacher in some way. Remembering his aunt's caution to all of her girls about keeping their mouths shut and their eyes open, Roy simply smiled at her and asked for Master Hawkeye.

Roy was politely instructed to wait in the hall, which enabled him to get a good look around the room without being obvious about it. He noticed immediately that while the outside of the house was ill-kempt, someone took very good care of the interior. The hardwood floors were polished to a soft shine, and although the Xingese rugs were somewhat worn, they had obviously been very expensive when new. Turning slowly on the spot, Roy committed all of his impressions to memory.

Later that evening, he settled down at the small desk in his room to begin his first letter.

* * *

_"Dear Auntie Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_Auntie said I should be as detailed as possible so that you girls can get an accurate idea of what it's like here, so I'll start at the very beginning._

_I arrived late in the afternoon. I'd say it's a small town, but in terms of area it's quite large-only the downtown section (where the train station and shops and things are) is much, much smaller than home. But it's all farmland out here, so the population is pretty well spread out. Almost all the houses are surrounded by fields and trees and things, and very few people even live in the town proper (besides the doctor and the postmistress). _

_In fact, I hardly saw anyone the whole walk to Master Hawkeye's house, which is a good four or five miles from the center of town. He lives in an enormous house at the northern edge of town, right up against the woods. You can tell it was a really beautiful house once, even if it is falling apart some now. I don't think anyone has mowed the yard in years; it's all growing wild. If I didn't know any better, I'd have walked past it and assumed it was an old, abandoned farm. _

_When I knocked, a girl about my age opened the door and introduced herself as Miss Hawkeye. I don't know what her relationship to sensei is, but I suppose she must be some kind of dependent relative of his. Since it might not be very polite to ask her, I just introduced myself and asked for Master Hawkeye. She left me alone in the hall while she went to find him, so I got to check out the room without worrying about being rude._

_Although it looks pretty shabby outside, the inside of the house is still really nice. You girls would love this place—it's got hardwood flooring, with plush carpets in the bedrooms, and big floor-to-ceiling windows. All of the furniture seems to be either leather or ornately carved wood. And everything is really neat and clean and well taken care of, unlike the outside and the yard. So I wonder whether the rumors of his "delicate financial situation" are exaggerated…he certainly seems to be able to afford a decent housekeeper, even if there is no gardener. Maybe he likes people to believe he's less well-off than he is? _

_When Master Hawkeye finally came downstairs, he stopped a few feet away and looked me over. Ada would've screamed at the sight of him. He's a bit intimidating, I guess: really tall and thin, with longish pale blonde hair, a hooked nose, hollow cheeks, and deep-set dark blue eyes. He kind of reminded me of a scarecrow, except for those eyes—they're really intense and unexpected. Like…like two live coals glowing in the middle of a pile of ashes. _

_As nerve-wracking as it was to have him towering over me like that, though, Hawkeye-sensei spoke very politely to me._

_After I'd greeted him and thanked him for accepting me as a trial pupil, he showed me all around the house. Besides the one that will be mine while I stay here, there are two other guest bedrooms upstairs, as well as the master suite (where sensei sleeps), Miss Hawkeye's room, and two bathrooms. Sensei has a private bathroom in his master suite, and Miss Hawkeye's things are in the one across the hall from her room, so it looks like I'll have the one next to my bedroom all to myself._

_Downstairs there's a formal dining room next to an enormous kitchen, a library that he uses as a study, a living room and a sort of parlor that looks like it was once his wife's sitting room—with chintz armchairs and a sewing basket and some lacy white curtains. Sensei informed me that Miss Hawkeye usually prepares all the meals, but that I can help myself to whatever is in the kitchen at any time, since he doesn't really follow a regular schedule for his own meals. _

_As he was explaining this, the girl came into the room behind us. But she just stood there quietly, without calling any attention to herself, until he noticed her and asked her what she needed. He called her "Riza," so that must be her first name. Miss Riza Hawkeye told sensei that his dinner was ready, and that she'd left it in his room. I got the impression that sensei usually eats alone in his own room, so when she turned to me, and asked whether I'd prefer to eat my meals in the kitchen or in my room, I said I'd just eat in the kitchen. I figured at least I'd have Miss Hawkeye for company. Anyway, she disappeared after that, and Master Hawkeye told me to go get my things settled in._

_Sensei said I could do as I liked until we met tomorrow morning for our first lesson, and that so long as I didn't disturb him or Miss Riza, I'm free to go anywhere on his grounds and into any other room in the house besides the basement (which is his private lab that he keeps locked). He emphasized the part about not bothering Miss Riza, which I thought was a little odd. I suppose the last student annoyed her somehow._

_ When he took himself off to his room (to his dinner, I suppose), I stopped off in my room to put my things away, and then headed down to the kitchen. Food had been left out for me, and the table was set for only one place, so I guess I'll be eating alone after all. Miss Hawkeye sure is a good cook, even if she's not very friendly. Her curry is almost as good as Juliet's!" _

* * *

**A.N. Thank you for your feedback, everyone! (Especially Baxter54132, Sweetdeath04, and ssadropout-without your encouraging words, I would not have continued this fic). A special thanks also to my guest reviewer, whom I am unable to thank individually :D**

**As always, constructive criticism is very welcome, even if it's only "your paragraphs are too long," or "you need to work on your dialogue." ****Do please continue to let me know your thoughts, and thank you very much for reading!**

**xoxo Janieshi**


	3. Second Entry

**Second Entry, April 11**

* * *

His first full day in the Hawkeye household had been rather a long one, and Roy was sleepy by the time he trudged back upstairs to his own room. He thought about waiting until morning to write in his journal, but he knew that now he'd thought of it, he had to write something down or he'd never be able to sleep. He'd end up thinking over everything that had happened and composing half the darn thing in his head anyway. Might as well commit it to paper while his impressions were fresh. With a sigh, he settled at the desk in his room and began his second entry.

* * *

_"So by 'in the morning,' it turns out that sensei just meant 'before noon.' I ended up sitting in his study for hours before he finally came in. But I got to read some really interesting stuff while I was waiting, so I figure that counts for study time. Sophie would love to get into sensei's study—it's really more of a library than anything else. There's a desk and a couple of armchairs, but bookshelves take up most of the wall space, completely covering three of the walls from top to bottom. The fourth wall is all windows, which are hung with heavy, old-fashioned velvet curtains. Sensei has a ton of really great books, and not just about alchemy. He's got history, chemistry, biology, mathematics, and even some biographies and fiction novels too. Some of them look like first editions, and I bet a lot of them are really rare._

_The big mahogany desk at one end of the room is so shiny I can see my reflection in it, so I can tell it was polished recently. But the room doesn't have that harsh, freshly scrubbed smell. You know what I mean—like when you walk into someone's house and it smells like cleaning supplies, and you can tell they've just frantically cleaned the place to impress you, and that it was probably filthy until about five minutes before you arrived._

_But this place has a well-kept, lived-in feel…it smells like lemon furniture polish and the leather bindings of books. I think this library is my favorite room so far. The armchairs are really comfortable and squashy, and made for a really good place to read while I waited. And Hawkeye-sensei seemed really pleased to find me reading when he walked in at last._

_Sensei went over his plan for how our lessons together will be, and told me he expects me to study hard when I have time in between lessons. He said something about needing to gauge where we stood, and that he expected great things out of me. Then, suddenly, he grabbed a heavy vase from one of the side tables and threw it against the wall. _

_I was totally stunned until he handed me a piece of chalk, and I realized he was testing me. So I drew the circle right there on the floor of the library, and transmuted the vase back together. When I'd finished fixing it, he picked it up and looked at it really close. He didn't say 'good job,' or anything, but he didn't yell at me either, so I guess it was all right._

_Anyway, he says we're going to start lessons with the very basics. Hawkeye-sensei wants to make sure I fully understand all of the elementary concepts before we try anything bigger. It's irritating, but it makes sense, because you can really mess stuff up if you don't know what you're doing. Plus I figured if I don't complain and do as he asks, he'll be more likely to let me stay longer and then I can learn more. So we worked together for several hours, until sensei sent me off and again told me I could do as I liked until the same time tomorrow. Guess I can sleep in now that I know he's a late riser, huh?" _

* * *

With a satisfied yawn, Roy closed the notebook he'd been writing his letters in and pressed his hand to his burning eyes. Speaking of sleeping in…it was definitely time to get to bed. He flicked out his lamp and climbed into the four-poster bed, and would have been asleep at once—except that he heard a noise from the hallway.

Footsteps?

Almost afraid to breathe, Roy sat up and listened intently. And heard _nothing_.

Darn this creaky old country house! The darkness outside of his window was so complete, it felt oppressive. There were no street lights to cast familiar shadows in through his window. The moon wasn't even up yet. There were no traffic noises, no sounds of mingled laughter and conversation spilling out of bars or restaurants nearby, nothing. Just silence. Straining to hear something, _anything_, in the heavy darkness, icy shards of fear lodged in his belly. And Roy trembled.

But he didn't hear the odd sound again.

Instead, his ears began picking out small, soothing, homelike noises: the ticking of the grandfather clock he'd seen downstairs, the soughing of the wind in the trees outside, the soft call of some sort of night bird. Ordinary, normal sounds.

The very stillness of the house gradually lulled him. It _was_ an old house, after all. His overactive imagination was playing tricks on him; supplying mysterious footsteps to fit a mysterious, lonely locale. Who would be creeping around his door in the middle of the night, anyway? If his teacher wanted to talk to him, he'd knock or wait until morning; he certainly wouldn't skulk around in the dark in his own home, right? Right.

Finally, Roy managed to convince himself that he was being foolish. _It's just because you're in an unfamiliar place, that's all. It's a bit quiet, sure, but that doesn't make it sinister. Quit being such a baby. What would the girls say if they saw you acting like this? _

He scoffed at himself, but was strangely comforted at the idea of his "sisters" teasing him for being childish. He rolled back over on the comfortable goose feather bed, imagining condescending pats on the head and gentle feminine laughter, and was deeply asleep in seconds.

And so he heard neither the creaking floorboard, nor the footsteps that crept slowly away again.

* * *

**A.N. Thanks you all so much for the reviews, follows and favorites! Updates on this fic might be a little bit sporadic, but I will try to get something up at _least_ once a week. Maybe twice if work cooperates! :D**

**xoxo Janie**


	4. Third Entry

**Third entry: April 13- April 16**

* * *

**April 13**

_"These past few days have been so busy and exciting; I've hardly had time for my journal. I'm learning so much already—especially how much there is that I have yet to learn. _

_I __**am**__ glad that I started studying alchemy back home, because otherwise I wouldn't have made it through the first three days here. Thankfully I already had sufficient understanding of the concept of equivalent exchange. Hawkeye-sensei didn't say he's satisfied by that, but he finally __**smiled**__ (which makes him look a lot less like a scarecrow and more like a normal person). And then he said my grasp of the foundational concepts is refreshing, because so many of his former students came to him expecting to be taught how to transmute objects out of thin air. ('Convinced they'd soon be conjuring carbuncles from currants' was his actual phrase)._

_Afterward, he quizzed me extensively on my knowledge of chemistry and biology. He showed me where the higher-level books on those subjects are kept in his library, and suggested that I spend time studying the more advanced stuff in these subjects, because it would help me later down the line. No arguments here. It would be better to know the exact chemical composition of something before you tried to transmute it, rather than having to stop in the middle of the process to go and look it up. Especially if there is something important that needs to be transmuted right away._

_I haven't seen Miss Hawkeye since the first night I got here, and her bedroom door is always closed when I pass. But I know she's around here somewhere, because there is always food left out for me and teacher at mealtimes. I'm still really curious about Miss Hawkeye's relationship to sensei, but I think it'd be too impertinent for me to ask."_

* * *

**April 15**

_"I finally ran into Miss Hawkeye again this morning. I also found out that she's the one who does all of the housework as well as the cooking. When I walked into the study, there she was dusting the books. She seemed surprised when I greeted her, but she responded with some vague polite words and went back to dusting. For whatever reason, she seemed to be uncomfortable being in the same room as me. _

_Perhaps she's just shy? Or maybe Hawkeye sensei's students normally ignore her, so she doesn't know how to react to me? Sensei did tell me to leave her alone, but I don't think he meant I shouldn't talk to her at all. And since she's the only other person in the house aside from Hawkeye-sensei, I'd been thinking that I'd try and make friends with Miss Hawkeye. _

_I wonder now whether she'll __**let**__ me._

_Either way, I don't think I'm off to a very good start. I was trying to make small talk, to sort of draw her out a little. She looked confused when I asked her who normally helped her out with the housework, and then blushed and told me that she did all the work herself._

_Then I was afraid I'd offended her—me and my big mouth. I didn't mean to imply anything with my question, but she might've thought that I was mocking her for doing the work of a servant or something. I panicked a little, and said that since she kept everything so clean around here, I'd just assumed there were several professionals around to do all the work. Stupid, I know. But it earned me a little half-smile, which I hoped was an encouraging sign. While I was racking my brain for something else to say, Hawkeye-sensei walked in. Miss Hawkeye said she'd let us get to our studies, and then she was gone before I could blink." _

* * *

**April 16**

_"I think we've established a pretty solid routine now. Since Hawkeye-sensei hasn't said anything about tossing me out on my ear yet, I'm hopeful that this means he's decided I'm worth teaching—for the time being at least. I still wake up much earlier than sensei, who I assume works late into the night on his own research. I make myself breakfast, since that seems to be the only meal Miss Hawkeye doesn't bother with preparing, and then I go study in the library until it's time for my lesson. Even though I learned a lot from Juliet, my cooking isn't nearly as good as Miss Hawkeye's, so I'm really glad she's around to make the other meals._

_Now that we've gone over the essentials together, Hawkeye-sensei has decided to change up how we've been doing lessons. From here on out, he'll set me a task and give me a certain amount of time to figure out how to do it. We'll meet only twice a week now, so I'll have the rest of the time to study on my own and solve my task. I guess this means Hawkeye-sensei's confident that I'm not going to accidentally bring the place down around our heads while doing some amateur alchemic experiment. And at the moment he's just giving me complex equations to solve, nothing practical yet, so there isn't much chance of me blowing the place up anyway._

_Since we won't be meeting every day, I'll have a lot more free time on my hands. Normally I'd be thrilled about that, but it's not as though I have any friends in town, and there isn't really much to do around here. I don't know how Miss Hawkeye manages her boredom. I suppose she must go to school during the day, so maybe she has friends from there that she spends time with. They certainly never come here to see her, though. Or if they do, they are as silent and invisible as she seems to be._

_I'm really going to try harder to get to know her—it'd be nice to have someone else to talk to in this place. It'll be something of a challenge though, since she seems to be either really shy, or just really good at avoiding me. She's definitely not the outgoing type, anyway._

_With the retired life she and sensei live out here, it's no wonder there are so many rumors about Hawkeye-sensei…and I wonder whether Miss Hawkeye has a hard time making friends because of them. I can almost picture a group of her schoolmates sitting around the table in total silence, all of them terrified to make a noise lest they disturb the local alchemist."_

* * *

Because the townspeople did seem to hold their resident alchemist in particularly high regard, Roy noticed. He'd paid close attention to the whispers and stares directed at him when he dropped off his first packet of letters at the little post office, and he'd gotten the distinct impression that Master Hawkeye was a bit of a celebrity in these parts. His reclusive habits were likely disregarded as the eccentricity that came hand in hand with genius, and his neighbors certainly seemed to admire him for his talent. But still, admiration wasn't the same as real affection and friendship.

As he trotted along the lonely country lane that led back to the Hawkeye estate, Roy tried to ignore the growing pangs of homesickness. It'd probably be a few days before he'd get anything back from the girls…not that he missed them or anything. Course not.

Gregarious by nature, Roy's spirits were beginning to feel the strain of the seclusion his teacher preferred. It had been a whole week, but the only people he'd talked to so far were the two inmates of the Hawkeye residence. Though the people in town had seemed friendly enough, they'd also been very distant towards him. Reminding him, as though he didn't already know it, that he was an outsider and a visitor here, and not someone they'd open up to after a mere week's acquaintance.

And five miles was a long way to walk for the sake of just-this-side-of-civil conversation. Especially when there was someone close to his own age right here in this very house he could talk to. In theory, at least.

His natural curiosity about people in general was fueled by the fact that Miss Hawkeye was so elusive. Roy couldn't figure out how she moved so quickly and quietly through the house, or why he so rarely saw her. Surely she didn't spend all of her time locked in her own room, so where did she go? What did she do, besides cook and clean? Surely she had other interests? Hobbies?

He'd barely seen her since their brief encounter in the library, but he'd unconsciously started to look for her as he went about his day, wondering whether she was at school in town while he sat toiling with his teacher in the library, or imagining what she might be reading or studying while he was writing to his sisters late into the night and pretending he didn't miss their bright chatter and infectious energy. In fact, Roy still wasn't entirely certain whether Miss Hawkeye attended school in town or not. He never saw her during the day when one might expect school to be in session, but then again he never saw her leaving or coming home dressed in a school uniform either. He just plain _didn't_ see her.

Not that she made an effort to call attention to herself when she _was_ present...she moved on silent feet through the house, flitting like a ghost from room to room. Judging from the few glimpses he'd had of the girl, he'd seen how thoughtful she was, and how solicitous of Hawkeye-sensei's health and comfort. More than once, she'd slipped into the room unnoticed by the elder scholar to carry away dishes he'd left out from an earlier meal or to bring in a fresh pot of tea.

Roy watched her every move with bright, curious eyes, eager to say something friendly towards her should she look his way, but so far she'd avoided his gaze and slipped away again in silence. His teacher always seemed vaguely surprised to find a cup of hot tea sitting at his elbow where he'd left an empty cup, but he simply drank it and continued his studies without comment. This just confused Roy further.

Miss Hawkeye's behavior wasn't hostile, and she didn't seem exactly _unfriendly_, just...cold. Or...shy? Reserved? It was difficult to find an appropriate adjective to describe her. All that he knew for sure was that he was getting lonely in this big old house, and he was ready to make this girl a friend… if only she'd cooperate.

* * *

**A.N. Thanks for the reviews/follows/favorites, everyone! You guys are the best!**

**xoxo Janie**


	5. Fourth Entry

**Fourth Entry, April 19**

* * *

_"You'll never guess what I found out today. I was poking about in the library, and I found an old picture of sensei stuck in between the pages of a book about a type of Xingese medical alchemy. He's sitting beside a really pretty woman holding a baby, and on the back, they are listed as his wife and daughter._

_Miss Riza Hawkeye is Hawkeye-sensei's __**daughter**__. _

_I'd never have guessed it. Miss Hawkeye doesn't look a thing like her father, except maybe for the blonde hair. And even that's not exactly a unique trait! To judge from the photo I found, though, she looks an awful lot like her mom—same eye color and shape, same nose, same lips… the only difference (well, besides age, obviously) is that Mrs. Hawkeye wore her hair long and loose, in big, soft curls. _

_Anyway, I'm really glad I figured this out before I actually asked one of them and made a complete fool of myself. Maybe you girls spotted it long ago and are laughing and saying I really ought to have known…but how could I? Hawkeye-sensei didn't even introduce her as his daughter when we met. (Oh, and according to this photograph, Riza __**is**__ her full first name—her mother's was Tereza. Just something else I'd been wondering about.) Hawkeye-sensei never calls her any nicknames or terms of endearment, nor does anything about his behavior distinguish her as his only child. _

_I suppose he's not that kind of man. Not the sentimental type, I mean. But it still seems odd to me that Miss Hawkeye's own father treats her with the same cool cordiality as he might be expected to show a distant relation. And she's the same way. She acts almost as though she's a servant in her own home, never speaking unless spoken to, keeping her eyes downcast, and going about her business without disturbing the master of the house. I don't see or hear them talking to each other at all, really, although I'm sure they must._

_Also, according to the date on the photo, Miss Hawkeye is a whole three years younger than I am. From the way she carries herself (her "bearing," as Elinor would call it,) I'd assumed she was my age or even a bit older. I suppose she had to grow up fast, since it seems like she's had to look after herself and her dad since her mom died. Sensei is far too immersed in his research into flame alchemy to pay attention to anything else. I wonder whether he'd slowly starve to death if she wasn't here to make sure he ate._

_Since I don't have much else to do, I explored some of the property behind the house this afternoon after studying all morning. Lucy and Claire would love it. It's a bit overgrown and wild, true, but it's actually really pretty that way. There are some amazing roses growing along one side of the house, and you'd never believe how many different colors and sizes there are. The grass has grown really tall in the front of the house, and there are a lot of wildflowers scattered in the mix too. Around the back there is even an old barn, but it doesn't look like any livestock has been kept there in ages. I did find an old doll in the hay loft, so Miss Hawkeye probably played there when she was younger. It's pretty dirty in there, though, more like a junk heap than anything else. The wood is rotten in places, just like some parts of the porch around the house. I don't think sensei even notices the state of the outside of the house, to be honest, and Miss Hawkeye can't possibly handle it all on her own._

_I can almost hear Veronica saying "sexist!" and getting all indignant, but don't misunderstand me: I'm not saying that a girl isn't __**capable**__ of doing groundskeeper's work or repairs. Miss Hawkeye certainly is slender and delicate and all, so it definitely wouldn't be an easy job for her. But she already has the whole inside of this great big house to manage all on her own. Dealing with the upkeep of the property on top of the housework and the cooking, plus school? That's just expecting too much of any one person. Maybe I should see if there is anything out there that I can help with…checking for holes in the roof or something. it will give me something to do between lessons, and I guess it would be good exercise while I am at it._

_Anyway, there is a lot more to the property that I haven't seen yet. I can't wait to spend some time in those old woods!" _

* * *

In a rare display of uncertainty, Chris Mustang chewed on her plump lower lip as she re-read her nephew's latest letter for the third time. She caught herself after a moment and quickly pulled out a hand mirror to check her lipstick.

Funny, wasn't it? That he'd sent this one letter independent of the others? His "weekly" packet had arrived only the day before; the girls were squabbling over it downstairs even now. So why send them a single letter, and so soon? Why not send it with the next weekly packet?

Perhaps it wasn't really that strange. Knowing Roy, his little 'discovery' had so surprised him that he'd just had to share it as soon as possible with his girls. Whom he very obviously missed, more than either he or his aunt had anticipated.

"A little loneliness is probably good for him," Chris thought, absently reapplying her blood red lipstick. "It'll build his character, I should think. With all these girls constantly fawning over him here, he's in some danger of developing an inflated sense of his own importance, if we're not careful."

She rose slowly, and moved to her window to gaze out over the rooftops. "This young Miss Hawkeye sounds like a sensible sort of girl, quiet though she may be. Knows better than to trust a person on sight, at least," she mused.

Then she smiled suddenly, and all the traces of uncertainly cleared from her face. "I hope she makes him work for it. Trust and friendship should be _earned_, after all. He should know what it's like to have to want something that doesn't come easy, for a change. To have to really work at it. Yes, she'll be good for him." Downstairs, raised voices and bright laughter announced the arrival of Violet and Ada. Chris glanced at the letter one last time before locking it in her desk drawer.

"Daughter, hm? Grumman, you sly old fox," she whispered. Her smile turned slightly feral as she locked her office door behind her.

It was time to get back to work.

* * *

**A.N. I meant to post this one yesterday, but my laptop had other ideas. My kingdom for a PC that doesn't turn suicidal at the three year mark. I guess that's why everyone keeps telling me to get a Mac...Ah, first world problems.**

**Anyway. Thanks again for the reviews/favorites/follows, folks! I can't tell you how they brighten my day :)**

**xoxo Janie**


	6. Fifth Entry

**Fifth Entry, April 24**

* * *

Roy froze in the doorway to the kitchen, surprised. He'd already become so used to her elusiveness, that stumbling across Miss Hawkeye like this, in an unguarded moment, came as something of a shock. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to study her with the eye of a young man who'd been raised to prize female beauty as a valuable asset to be used to one's advantage.

He had, of course, seen far more beautiful girls. But Miss Riza was still rather cute—boyish haircut aside, the soft blonde hair and fair complexion made an interesting contrast to her dark brown eyes. He still couldn't trace any of her father's features in her face, which made him feel a _very_ little less foolish about not being able to guess their relationship immediately.

She hadn't stirred since his approach, but remained sitting quietly at the kitchen table, cradling a mug in her hands and seemingly lost in thought. Roy was starting to feel a bit of a pig just staring at the poor girl, so he cleared his throat, to alert her to his presence. He didn't want to scare her.

He failed miserably in that aim.

She jerked violently at the small sound, slopping tea all down her front with a loud gasp. He saw a flicker of what might have been fear cross her face in that split second before she regained control of herself. Glancing hastily around the room, Roy spotted a towel on a counter and jumped forward to offer it to her. She watched him with a perturbed expression, and didn't say a word.

"I'm _so_ sorry Miss Hawkeye, I didn't mean to startle you," he cried, flustered. "Are you all right? Did the tea burn you?" Oddly enough, _his_ nervousness had a calming effect on her. She relaxed her tense frame very slightly and smiled ruefully up at him as she accepted the towel from his eager hands. He couldn't help but notice that she had a really pretty smile.

"No, I'll be fine," she said softly, mopping at the rapidly cooling liquid staining her dress. "Please don't blame yourself. I thought—I didn't realize you'd be awake at this hour. Usually the students sleep in much later. I...I wasn't expecting anyone else to be downstairs yet." Her large dark eyes flicked rapidly between his face, the floor, the dishes in the sink behind him, and back to his face again. Then she dropped her gaze to the damp towel in her hands again, brow furrowed in consternation.

Raised by a woman of Chris's ilk, Roy had become quite good at picking up on the subtleties of body language and tone of voice. Miss Hawkeye's discomfort was clear, as was a vague sort of anxiety. Perhaps she was embarrassed by the state of the kitchen (which was untidier than he'd yet seen it). She probably hadn't bothered to clean up yet because she was so used to being left alone downstairs for another couple of hours.

Of course, he couldn't really _know_ what was running through her head, without any other insight into her personality. But he thought his guess was a good one. All he could do was apologize again and try his best to make her understand that he wasn't usually as big an ass as he appeared at present. She did respond to a few of his questions, and allowed him to brew some fresh tea for her. But after a few minutes, she brushed him off and made her escape.

Dismayed, Roy made his way back upstairs without even eating breakfast, forgetting hunger in this new problem he'd found to wrestle with. How could he make friends with Miss Hawkeye if she wanted nothing to do with him? Hard to blame her for that, he supposed. Especially when all he'd managed to do to recommend himself was to scare her half to death: bursting in on her when she'd thought that she was alone and peppering her with questions. Maybe he could ask the girls for advice on how to win her over.

With that thought in mind, he settled at his desk again to begin the first of this week's letters.

* * *

_"Dear Auntie Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_I'm off to a bad start with my attempt to befriend Miss Hawkeye. I didn't sleep well last night, so I ended up getting up much earlier this morning than I have been doing since my arrival. I went down to the kitchen for breakfast, and I found the mysterious Miss Hawkeye sitting there with a cup of tea. _

_I've just realized that I haven't described her properly for you yet, so let me tell you what she looks like while I'm thinking of it: she's slender, and shorter than me, with light blonde hair (which she keeps cut very short) and big brown eyes. They're an unusual shade of brown, almost like the color of honey…although they seem darker in certain lights. When I first met her, I would've described them as a sort of chocolate brown, but this morning they looked almost amber, because of the light coming in from the kitchen window. _

_I was so surprised to find her actually sitting down and at rest for once, I stopped right in the doorway and just stared. After a few seconds passed and she still hadn't noticed me, I made a little noise in my throat so I wouldn't scare her when I walked in. But the sound startled her, and she ended up spilling tea all down her dress when she jumped. _

_Now, I don't know about you girls, but I don't think __**I'd**__ be feeling very friendly to someone who snuck up on me in the middle of my breakfast and made me spill scalding liquid all down my front. I did apologize, and she said it was all right, and we even talked for a few minutes before she left to change her dress. But I still felt like I'd intruded on her personal space, which isn't likely to endear me to her._

_I found something out from our brief conversation, at least—Miss Hawkeye did make me breakfast those first few days. She'd assumed I would sleep in like her father (and his previous students, it seems), so she was leaving food out for me after I'd already come and gone in the mornings. We must have just missed each other, she said, because she's an early riser herself. She assumed, when she found the un-eaten food later, that I either didn't usually eat breakfast, or that she was making food I didn't like. She knew I'd help myself if I was hungry, so she gave up on leaving warm food out._

_Of course I apologized for inconveniencing her and praised her cooking, but this served only to embarrass her. I'm starting to think that she's distressed by overt compliments of any kind, really. She left me right after that, explaining that she needed to change out of her wet clothes. Perfectly sensible, and yet I had the feeling that she'd have thought of some other excuse to get away if that one hadn't happened to be true. It's almost as though she's afraid of me._

_Even if we don't up end as friends, I don't want her to __**dislike**__ me…do any of you girls have good suggestions for convincing her that I'm not such a bad person?_

* * *

Suddenly embarrassed, Roy nearly scratched out that last line. He didn't want the girls to think he might be pining over his teacher's daughter, for pity's sake. How cliché was that? And he wasn't pining! It's just that she was the only person near his age that he'd even seen so far in town (although he was certain there were others).

He re-read his letter again…he didn't sound like some lovelorn teenager, right?

Thinking about the sorts of things he'd found in the silly romances his sisters often read, Roy snickered. The girls couldn't possibly construct a romance out of the fact that he and Miss Hawkeye were roughly the same age and living under the same roof. They'd hardly had any contact with each other, after all. It's not like Miss Riza was fainting and blushing at every turn. And he certainly hadn't swooped in to rescue her from any unsavory characters lately. There hadn't been any "our eyes met across the room" moments, nor had anyone said anything about confessing their undying devotion. She was cute, he'd admit. But he certainly hadn't been captivated by her beauty, nor she with his charm. She didn't seem all that impressed by him, period. So in the end there wasn't much to work with.

After a moment, he just shrugged—he'd written too much to start the letter over, and a scratched out line would only fuel his sisters' curiosity. They could tease him about it all they wanted; he wouldn't be there to hear it. Not liking the idea of someone disliking you without a reason was perfectly normal and in no way indicative of romantic attachment. With a decisive little nod, he closed his notebook and reached for his latest alchemy lesson.

If only he knew the things a feminine imagination was capable of, Roy might have re-written the letter after all.

* * *

**A.N. Thanks again for all the reviews and follows and favorites, everyone! I really do appreciate your words of encouragement-and even just your general thoughts on what I've written. And if you notice any errors, please feel free to point them out; I just found two little typos in my last chapter (which I've since corrected) :D**

**xoxo Janie**


	7. Sixth Entry

**Sixth Entry, April 27**

* * *

When Roy saw her next, Miss Hawkeye was half reclined on a wrought iron garden seat, surrounded by fragrant curling stands of honeysuckle.

"Oh—good morning, Miss Hawkeye," he said cheerfully as he approached. She looked up at him with something like horror, and he quickly dropped the hand that he had raised in friendly greeting. "I'm sorry, am I intruding?" he asked, unnerved by the expression on her face.

"Not at all," she murmured. But she had already risen to her feet and clutched her heavy book defensively against her chest. Honestly, she looked as though she wanted to run away.

"I, er, didn't realize you were home during the day," he tried again, smiling at her.

"Why wouldn't I be? I do live here," she rejoined, her voice sweet and gentle in spite of the rather cold words. She hadn't moved in the slightest, but he could see that she was coiled as tight as a spring and still poised to flee.

"Well, yes, I know _that_. I just—I assumed you were in school during the day, that's all," he answered. "I never see you around during school hours." _Or at all._

She studied him silently for a moment before she spoke again.

"I'm home-schooled. My father teaches me whenever he's not working on his own research or busy with a student."

Just when the hell would _that_ be? Roy thought, but he knew better than to say it aloud. He suddenly had the impression that she was waiting for him to make a disparaging remark and had steeled herself to hear whatever it was. How strange…

"Huh, I had no idea," he said lightly. "But you never seem to study in the library. Is this where you read instead?" He glanced around approvingly.

The arbor was a lovely, secluded little spot. The cushions on the garden seat looked soft and comfortable, and the heavy vines of climbing honeysuckle provided ample shade from the warm spring sun. Tucked between the kitchen gardens and the neglected orchard at the back of the house, he might never have realized this place existed if he hadn't set out to explore the gardens more thoroughly today.

"No, not always," she said evasively, shifting her stance slightly. "But you're right; I really only go into father's library to clean."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Why do you ask, Mr. Mustang?" Her eyes had narrowed, suspiciously. Roy's heart sank. She really didn't like him at all, did she? He rubbed at the back of his neck, self-consciously, and thought about the advice his sisters had given him. _Be yourself. Be honest. Keep being friendly and polite._

"Well…it does get a bit lonely studying all by myself. And I thought—I mean, it'd be nice to have company," he said. Why was she staring at him like he had said something weird? "I'm just trying to get to know you, Miss Hawkeye," he said, a little awkwardly.

"You want to get to know me?" she repeated, in a tone of genuine curiosity. "Why?"

Roy was rendered nearly speechless. How was he supposed to answer _that_? _Because I'm lonesome and homesick and I don't have any other friends here?_

"Well, I'm staying in your home, after all, and, you know, accepting your hospitality," he stumbled over his words, unprepared. "I thought—I mean, I wanted to…shouldn't I try to get to know the family I'm living with?" he finished rather desperately. He was aware he'd sounded a bit stupid, but her question had caught him off guard. How was one supposed to explain the desire to be friends, anyway?

"Regardless of the living arrangements, my father's students don't normally bother getting to know me," she replied. "I'm certainly no one of consequence; befriending a little girl wouldn't much benefit a serious scholar."

Roy was distracted from his own poor choice of words by her matter-of-fact tone…did Miss Hawkeye really think that? That she wasn't worth befriending because she wasn't an important enough person? Or was she testing him somehow?

"What do you—I don't understand," he began to say. What had those other students **said** to her? Miss Hawkeye seemed to think she'd said too much, and her face flushed pink.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Mustang, I have some work I really must attend to," she said, and turned to go.

"Wait!" Roy cried. She paused. "Don't leave on my account," he said hurriedly. "I was just going anyway, if _you_ wanted to stay."

At that, she looked back over her shoulder at him, still holding her book to her chest like a shield. Roy took a breath and forged ahead. Honesty. All right.

"Look, I didn't know that you were here reading; I really didn't mean to disturb you or chase you away or anything like that. I just smelled the honeysuckle from the back door and came looking for it, cuz it reminds me of…well, never mind that. Point is, I don't want to be a bother, or not more of one than I already have been. So don't feel like you have to go just because I've blundered in to your secret spot."

Her lips parted in surprise, but Miss Hawkeye didn't reply.

"Let me put it another way, then," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going to look around the woods for a bit, now. See you later, maybe?" And he gave her a jaunty little half-wave before marching resolutely towards the cool shady trees that bordered the Hawkeye estate.

Geez, what kind of people did her father normally teach,if his daughter thought she had to kowtow to them and give up her place when they came, or stay out of sight unless called for?

"Poor kid; she's probably always being bossed around by a bunch of conceited, self-important jerks," he grumbled to himself. "I bet she thinks all alchemists are just the same. No wonder she wants nothing to do with me. How could she know that I'm any different?"

When he chanced a glance back over his shoulder, Miss Hawkeye was already gone. But it wasn't the last time he'd see her that day.

* * *

_"I explored more of the garden this morning after breakfast, and I stumbled upon the part that Miss Hawkeye looks after. _

_Most of the property has sort of a forlorn, abandoned feel to it, as I've said before. I already mentioned the old barn, right? There are some fields around it, naturally, but they aren't being used now. I would think Hawkeye-sensei could sell them or rent them out if he needs the money, but maybe he prefers keeping other people at a distance. _

_Between the house and the barn there's a little grove of fruit trees, all overgrown and in sore need of pruning, as well as the kitchen gardens._

_And tucked between the orchard and the garden is a little spot that I think must have been a favorite of Mrs. Hawkeye's when she was alive. (It reminded me of that one scene in __**The **__**Secret **__**Garden**__, Claire, with the walled garden full of flowers and things. You know which part I mean.) Anyway, right behind the neatly tended beds of vegetables and herbs that Miss Hawkeye uses, I found a little arbor of honeysuckle tangled around a garden seat. And who do you suppose I found there, reading and basking in the sun?_

_I remembered what you girls said, and tried to just be my normal self. We talked a little bit about her education, and it turns out she is mostly self-taught, although she calls it being home-schooled. We didn't talk long, since she had work to do, so I didn't get a chance to ask her what subjects she's studying._

_But coincidentally, this afternoon's lesson with Hawkeye-sensei went a bit later than usual. Just as we were finishing up, Miss Hawkeye came into the library. She apologized for disturbing us, and would have backed out again if her father hadn't gestured for her to stay. He told me I could go, but I was really curious about what he wanted her for, since he pays so little attention to her otherwise. And so I stopped just outside the door and listened. Discretely, of course. _

_Apparently sensei called her in to examine her on what she's been learning lately. He asked all kinds of difficult questions, about history and literature and math, and as far as I know she answered all of them right. She knows all kinds of things I've never even heard of; I couldn't have answered half of the questions he asked her! He didn't praise her at all for being such a good student, but when she left his study, she looked really happy… I suppose __**she**__ could tell how pleased he was with her work. She's cute when she smiles like that; I wish she'd smile more often. _

* * *

**A.N. Poor lonely, misunderstood Roy. Maybe he'll have better luck next week? Maybe...**


	8. Seventh Entry

**May 1**

* * *

Roy frowned down at his notebook. He was running out of pages; he'd need to pick up a new one soon.

Speaking of which…

Yes, he had enough. He glanced at the clock. It was still early, he had no lesson today, and the sun was shining cheerily outside. As good a day as any for a walk into town. After carefully tearing the pages from his notebook, Roy tucked them into an envelope.

He plodded down the stairs, determined not to go about as silently as Miss Hawkeye always did. If she was in the kitchen again, he would give her fair warning this time. If he wasn't sneaking up on her, then she could avoid him if she wanted to.

She _wasn't_ in the kitchen, and Roy's heart sank just a little. Perhaps she really was avoiding him.

However, she'd left a covered plate of something sitting out on the table where she usually left his meals. He peeked under the cover. Sticky buns! And they were the kind with a thick layer of caramel syrup and chopped walnuts on top, too. Well, if she'd gone to all this trouble, then he might as well take a moment to enjoy them, he thought with a grin.

As he started the kettle for a cup of tea, Roy noticed that there were no dirty dishes in the sink this morning. And the counter tops and floor were practically sparkling. So, Miss Hawkeye had a proud streak after all, eh? He snickered. What a meticulous little housewife!

Keeping this in mind, he washed his own dishes when he'd finished, and left them on the drying rack before setting off.

The postmistress was a middle-aged woman of the soft, round, and motherly type. By this time, she'd taken an interest in the polite and charming young man who wrote so diligently to his female relatives. His letters were always nice and thick, and his family had already sent him several in return. She did her best to fish for some personal information, but she was no match for the nephew of Chris Mustang. Roy gave her just enough to satisfy her basic curiosity without actually revealing anything she didn't already know, and was careful to do it in such a way that she thought him more polite and charming than ever.

From her, on the other hand, he learned that there were in fact several kids in town near his age, that these boys and girls attended a small country school located near the train station, and that they spent their afternoons (once school was over for the day) either working on their respective family farms or making such mischief as they could around town. Not much chance he'd run into them accidentally, unfortunately. But good to know all the same.

Taking the steps of the post office two at a time, Roy headed next to the dry goods store. It was something of a general store which carried just about anything a person could want, from clothing to hardware to candy to paper. He bought himself a new notebook, and then spent several minutes loitering in the front of the store, coveting a thick navy blue scarf on display in the window. The balmy spring nights weren't cold enough to justify such an extravagant purchase, and it would be summer soon…for all he know, his teacher would grow tired of him before the weather turned cold again in the fall. And city winters were rather mild; he wouldn't need such a scarf back home, either. But it was such a handsome scarf, and reminded him in some vague way of this father. Perhaps he'd worn a similar scarf, when he was alive? Roy couldn't quite remember.

Sighing, he turned away from the window at last, only to slam right into someone passing behind him that he hadn't noticed. He made an impressive dive to catch the package he'd knocked out of the someone's hands as the someone staggered but managed not to topple to the ground. Straightening, Roy found himself looking into the startled face of his teacher's daughter.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Hawkeye," he cried, completely appalled. Both apologetic and anxious, he took hold of her arm as though to assure himself that she was still intact. "I should've looked where I was going; I didn't hurt you, did I?" Miss Hawkeye turned an appealing shade of pink as she shook her head. At the same moment, the hairs on the back of Roy's neck prickled.

Perturbed, he glanced around, only to find every eye down the whole street riveted on the pair of them. Roy didn't particularly mind their stares on his own account—he was already used to the townsfolk eyeballing the new kid in town. But it bothered him that his actions, however unintentionally, embarrassed Miss Hawkeye in front of her friends and neighbors. "I really am sorry," he said softly enough that only she could hear him, and he withdrew his hand from her arm.

Mute, she reached out to take the package he'd caught for her. Though her face was still faintly pink, the expression in her dark eyes was an odd mixture of fear and defiance. Pretending he hadn't noticed her outstretched hand, Roy tucked the bulky package under his own arm instead. He needed to ask her a question that would require something more than a yes or no head shake.

"Are you heading back home already, or is there something else you needed here in town?"

"I'm just on my way to the market," she replied, barely audible.

"Well, then, let me help you carry your things back," he said quickly. "To make up for barreling into you like that. Please?" She hesitated, and Roy held his breath. To refuse him now would border on rudeness, but it would tell him what he needed to know—whether or not she really wished to avoid him. She finally inclined her head.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate the help."

Roy beamed with such sincerity that her lips quirked upwards almost in spite of herself. He could practically hear the collective intake of breath from the various onlookers at her smile. He hoped Miss Hawkeye didn't notice the way people were suddenly whispering all around them. Ah, small town gossip.

She had noticed. But she surprised him with her reaction. Rather than blushing and stammering and acting like the shy young girl she was, she simply straightened her spine, threw her shoulders back, and walked right past the whispering horde with the poise and dignity of a queen. The whispers died down at once. Roy was left to be mildly impressed as he followed meekly in her wake. This girl was really something else, wasn't she?

As they visited the various stalls in search of meat and milk and bread, Roy found that his quiet companion was no more disposed to idle chatter here in town then when they were at home. The townspeople were certainly still keeping a sharp eye (or two) on him. But in spite of the silent scrutiny, he had the impression that they were carefully maintaining some kind of distance.

They waved and smiled as they passed, but no one stopped to engage Miss Hawkeye in conversation. Various shopkeepers spoke familiarly with her, calling her "dear" and "sweetie," and offering her a few extra apples or slices of bacon or what have you, but she was no warmer or friendlier toward them than she'd ever been to Roy. She was polite, of course, and accepted their offerings gracefully and with appropriate expressions of gratitude, but she was the same reserved and gentle girl he had seen up until now. This behavior puzzled him.

It struck him like a lightning bolt when he finally figured it out.

None of these people were actually friends with Miss Hawkeye. Berthold Hawkeye, the famous scholar and alchemist, was accorded a sort of elevated status in his small country hometown; Roy had already noticed as much. His neighbors treated him as though he belonged to a different class than they did. And by association, they treated his daughter differently as well. The little gifts, the extras, might be viewed as neighborly gestures of affection. Or they might be payments towards past or future debts, given in exchange for services that an accomplished alchemist could provide them.

Roy wondered, not for the first time, whether Miss Riza had any real friends at all in this town; whether there was anyone here who actually cared about _her_ and not just about the favors her father could do for them.

With all of these ideas churning in his brain, Roy found that he didn't mind the silence that had fallen between them. Honestly, it wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable silence, but a peaceful one. And for the first time, Miss Hawkeye seemed relaxed in his presence

Roy didn't speak again until they had started walking back, his arms heavy with her purchases.

"By the way, the sweet rolls you left out this morning were amazing. I don't suppose you'd be willing to share the recipe?" Her eyes flicked to his, surprised, and then away.

"Do you bake?"

"Oh, not me. One of my aunt's employees likes to bake. Juliet's always looking for new things to make for her roommates."

"I see. I don't mind sharing. And the recipe is fairly simple," she replied after a second's pause. She had gotten a little tense, again, Roy noticed. But he thought of what his sisters had said in their last letter—he _was_ still a relative stranger to her. And to judge from the way the townspeople behaved around her, she probably didn't interact a whole lot with people her own age, much less with boys. Everyone else held her at arm's length, after all, and even her father's previous students mostly ignored her, by her own admission. Perhaps she simply didn't know _how_ she was supposed to talk to him.

"Thanks! I'll copy it out in my next letter home," was all that he said.

"Were you in town to mail a letter, then?" she asked, tilting her head a little. It was the first personal thing she'd asked him.

"Mm-hm. I write to my aunt almost every day, and I try to send the letters home once a week," he explained.

"To your aunt?" she echoed, curiosity piqued. _Not to your mom or dad?_ –was obviously what she wanted to ask, Roy just knew it.

"Yes. My aunt's raised ever me since my parents died," he said matter-of-factly. Stricken, she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked; it's really none of my business."

And it was back: that odd whisper of fear, that sudden tension shimmering in the air between them. It was as though she were bracing herself for a hot lash of anger. Confused but trying hard to understand how she must be feeling, Roy hastened to reassure her.

"No, it's all right. They died in an accident when I was little, so I don't really remember them well. I'm very lucky, really, to have an aunt like Chris; she's my dad's younger sister and she's been awfully decent to me. Without her support, I'd never have been able to learn alchemy at all, much less leave home to study with a proper master," he explained earnestly.

"I see," she said softly.

Roy could almost feel her retreating, withdrawing back into that hard cold shell of hers. He had to do something, or say something, that would leave even just a crack open.

"Speaking of which, what are _you_ studying, these days?" he asked, thinking of that heavy book she'd been reading in the garden.

She hesitated again, but seemed to decide it couldn't hurt to answer.

"Drachman literature, mostly. My father wants me to learn to read and write in Drachman, eventually, but only after I've gotten a firm grasp on Cretan, which I've just started. I'm supposed to start studying sixteenth century history once I finish with the Great Cretan Wars."

"Wow, all of that? That's advanced stuff!" A calculating look from beneath her lashes.

"Do you really think so?" she ventured to ask.

"Yeah!" Roy answered enthusiastically. "Learning a different language, especially one so complex as Cretan? I know university students older than the both of us put together that never bothered with it. And Drachman literature is pretty heavy…all that philosophy and psychology! At least, I know _I_ struggled with the little bit of it I've had to read. So, yeah. I think it's pretty amazing that you're learning all of that."

"Well, I can't do alchemy, so I have to make up for it somehow," Miss Hawkeye replied. Before Roy had quite processed that surprising statement, she tilted her head slightly so that she could look up at him again. "So have…have you read anything Drachman, then?" she asked, shyly.

"Only Leonovski. _The Brothers_."

"That's the book I'm reading right now," she said, surprised.

"Oh yeah? So what do you think of it? I mean, I liked the story and most of the characters, but I remember having a hard time keeping all the names straight. Which part are you on?"

"I've just finished the chapter where Alex has the argument with his second brother, the one who thinks he might be going mad but is afraid to admit it?"

"Oh, right! I remember that part. The tension between them as the fight plays out was so intense…but you can still see how much Alex loves his brother John, and how concerned he is for his well-being, even in the heat of the argument. Isn't that where Alex's old girlfriend shows up and ruins everything?"

"Yvette? Yes! I can't stand her."

"I didn't like her either! She's such a hypocrite, breaking up with Alex once the rich old man dies, don't you think?"

The discussion on literature lasted all the rest of the walk. It wasn't until Roy unloaded the last of the packages onto the kitchen table that Riza seemed to notice: she'd talked more to him in the past half hour than she'd done in the past three weeks put together. A little awkwardly, she thanked Roy for helping her with the shopping.

"Least I could do, after nearly knocking you down," and he smiled at her. He was still just thrilled that she hadn't run away as though afraid to catch his stupidity or something. She seemed uncertain of what to do next.

"Um, are you hungry? I could start lunch now, if you'd like…" It was still early, and Roy knew that his teacher probably wasn't even awake yet.

"Nah, don't trouble on my account. How about some tea, though?" Roy said, while moving towards the kettle himself. She blinked, and then reached for the teacups. While they waited for the water to boil, she even let him help put away the groceries, though she tried at first to protest.

"You really don't have to—yes, the top shelf there. And the sugar goes just beneath it," she said, as the kettle began to squeal.

"I don't mind," he said, standing on tiptoes to reach the spot she'd indicated. "We aren't meeting for a lesson today, so I'm not in any rush. Ah, thanks," he accepted the cup of tea she'd poured for him. "I was just going to spend the rest of the morning reading, actually, so don't let me get in your way if you have studying or anything to do."

He plunked himself down in the chair opposite hers and fished a cheap dime store novel out of his coat pocket. It was one Claire had recommended in the last letter from the girls: a rather improbable thriller about a woman who was shut up in an insane asylum under a case of mistaken identity. He had just reached the part where the woman's half-sister was breaking into the asylum to save her, and he was curious to see how it would all end up.

Roy could still feel Miss Hawkeye's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze firmly on the page. If she wanted him to leave, she would have to say so. If she wanted to leave herself, then he wouldn't stop her. She needed to let him know where he stood, here. It was exhausting to be so uncertain all the time.

Miss Riza hesitated only a moment before drifting across the room, where she plucked her own book from the shelf. Slowly, she settled herself at the table across from him. The two children read in companionable silence for the remainder of the morning.

* * *

_"I think I've finally convinced Miss Hawkeye I'm not a complete monster…" _Roy wrote late into the night, happier than he'd been since he'd stepped off the train onto the platform of this little town.

* * *

**A.N. Progress at last! Next time, we'll hear what Roy's sisters think of all this. **

**Side note-can anyone guess which novel Roy is reading? I've summarized it poorly, as the whole asylum bit is only one small part of an intricate, melodramatic mystery plot, but I'm still curious to know whether anyone recognized it.**

**xoxo Janie**


	9. Girls' Night In

**Girls' Night In**

* * *

Roy had no idea how eagerly his "sisters" waited for each new batch of letters to come.

Once everyone had gotten her chance to read each letter, and they had gossiped and giggled over every phrase, Chris quietly claimed it and bore it away to her own private office to join the others, leaving the younger women to work on their replies. Both she and Grumman were confident that the girls remained unaware of the real purpose behind the weekly correspondence. And if any one of them suspected, she wisely kept it to herself.

So once a week, Grumman sidled into the bar and ordered his whiskey neat. He knew Chris had been watching him more intently than usual, and she knew that he knew it. But neither of them said a word when she casually left the small packets, neatly tied with ribbon, next to his empty glass along with his change. Grumman only smiled elusively and slipped away as silently as he'd arrived.

* * *

Responding to Roy's letters became something of a weekly ritual for Madame's girls. They'd gather at Sophie's small apartment, as she was the only one with a proper writing desk, shouting out questions and advice and words of encouragement to be passed along to their "little brother," while Elinor scribbled furiously and laughingly told them to slow down and speak one at a time. Elinor had won the honor of being Roy's primary correspondent by popular vote, as she had the best penmanship.

As each page was filled, Elinor passed it to Violet, who drew funny pictures in the margins while Lucy giggled over her shoulder. Ada and Claire often ended up in an argument over the wisdom of sending Roy books to alleviate his boredom (_But Claire, he should be studying! Isn't that why he's there? / Oh come off it, Ada! Roy can't study ALL the time; he's got to take a break every now and then!_) But all eight of them managed to agree that Juliet should send him a care package of her fabulous shortbread cookies. (Although the first batch she attempted was promptly devoured by her co-conspirators…for the sake of quality assurance, of course. It wouldn't do to send their beloved little brother cookies that were sub-par, would it?)

And so, upon the receipt of their third "weekly" packet, the girls descended on Sophie's little townhome and made themselves comfortable in the living area with wine, tea, and Juliet's cookies.

"She sounds like a bit of an introvert," Claire said, skimming over the letters again for reference. "It's not just shyness; she seems perfectly fine talking to him when she _wants_ to."

"And why wouldn't she want to?" countered Ada, who was sitting on the floor and resting her head against Claire's knees. "Even if she doesn't know him very well, he's smart and handsome and charming! And sweet, and funny, and-"

"Yes, of course, Ada; paragon of virtue and all that," Claire interrupted, with an absentminded pat of Ada's blonde curls. "But she has no way to _know_ that when all he's done is ambush her and ramble on about cleaning supplies and cooking breakfast and what not. Elinor, remind him to ask her about her interests, for pity's sake. Maybe she'll warm up to him if he stops acting like an awkward teenager who's never talked to a girl before."

"And what **is** that all about?" Elinor laughed as the pen flew over the paper before her. "It's so unlike him!"

"It's probably the first time a girl hasn't fallen at his feet the moment he smiles at her," Juliet answered from her perch on Sophie's kitchen counter.

"Our little heartbreaker," Ada murmured affectionately.

"However unintentionally, young Miss Hawkeye is playing hard to get," Juliet continued, reaching for another cookie. "Which only makes him more curious about her, and more determined to win her over."

"Remember what Madame said?" Lucy piped up cheerily from beside Claire. "About how Master Hawkeye goes through students so fast? Miss Hawkeye probably doesn't have much chance to get to know them well because they're never _there_ long enough. I mean, friendships take some time to build, right? So, the harder Roy studies, the longer he'll be able to stay. And the longer he's there, the more she'll get used to him, and the more she gets used to him, the more likely they are to become friends!"

"He'll grow on her, you mean," Sophie said, a mischievous sparkle in her blue-green eyes. "Just like a fungus." The others erupted in giggles, and Sophie had to duck to avoid the throw pillow that Lucy aimed at her head.

"Oh, you know what I mean!" Lucy said, but she was giggling with the rest.

"It does make sense," Violet agreed as she opened another bottle of wine. "If the town is as small as Roy says, and the girl doesn't go to the local school with all of her neighbors' children, then she probably doesn't really interact with kids her own age. And I'm sure not all of her father's students have been young. So she may not know _how_ to act around him."

"And Roy's not exactly the retiring type," Sophie chimed in again, tossing her red-gold hair and pushing her wine glass towards Violet, who took the hint and refilled it. "He's probably going stir-crazy in that little backwater farming town. He's bound to overwhelm her with the force of his personality, if she's the only one around for him to talk to."

"There's something else going on here," Veronica said softly from Claire's other side. She'd gently taken the letters from Claire's hands a moment before. The others all turned to her with questioning looks. "There's more to this….see how he says she seems scared of him, in the kitchen? And how she doesn't know how to react to a compliment, when he's just trying to be nice…I know it was an awkward attempt on his part, but still."

"What are you thinking, Vee?" Juliet prompted, leaning forward a little. She had an idea of where Veronica was going.

"I bet some of those other students were horrible to her," Veronica said, looking up at last. "So now she just avoids them all, as best she can."

"Oh! You mean you think she's been picked on?" Lucy cried, distressed.

"Maybe," Veronica replied, blue eyes hard and angry. "Seems likely, though, doesn't it? Why else would she be scared of _Roy_? That kid's a pussycat."

"You don't think…I mean, there's her father, too," Violet said. "You don't think he could've-?" But Veronica was shaking her head.

"Doubtful. She doesn't avoid _him_, but she'll only go into a room where Roy is if her father is already there too. Remember his first few letters? The very first night, when she asks him about meals only after her father is there? And then that other letter, where he talks about how she brings her father tea in the study sometimes when they're both in there, but that he hardly sees her otherwise?"

"Oh, the poor little darling," Lucy whispered.

"Do you think—her father might've added to his bad reputation simply because he's thrown out students he could've kept on? Ones that were bullying her, I mean?" Juliet asked, frowning.

"Why else would he get rid of a steady source of income?" Veronica replied with an arched brow.

"Sure, because even an idiot who was hopeless at alchemy could be kept on and milked for the income he provided, at least to a point," Sophie agreed. "So they did something to piss him off, else he wouldn't have sent them away quite so soon. I think you've hit it, Vee."

"Do you think we should say something?" Ada asked, looking up at Elinor, who had long since stopped writing and was listening quietly.

"To Roy?" she asked. Ada nodded. After a moment, Elinor shook her head. "It wouldn't change anything, really."

"He should've noticed it by now, anyway," Claire added. "I know he's just a kid, but he's not a complete moron."

"Well, not all the time," Sophie said, grinning. "But I agree. At the very least, he's already noticed that she's not the most trusting person, and he's bound to wonder why that is. Start picking up the clues."

"Right," Violet agreed. "And even if he doesn't _quite_ get it, don't you think he should just keep on being himself? Let her see with her own eyes that he's not the kind of boy to tease her or play mean pranks on her or whatever those others did?" The others were nodding.

"After all, it's only been a few weeks," Lucy chirped, brightening again. "She just needs more time to get to know him. She'll see what a dear he is, I'm sure of it!"

"Right you are, Lu," Claire said fondly, wrapping an arm around the younger girl, as the others smiled at her optimism.

"That's that, then," Elinor said, serenely taking up her pen again. "All right, where was I? What came after, 'Do remember that your teacher's specialty is flame alchemy, darling…'"

"Let's see…how about this? 'So no hanky-panky with the teacher's daughter under that charming little honeysuckle arbor of yours,'" Sophie dictated.

"'Unless you'd like to end your alchemy training with nothing more to show than a few second-degree burns on your bum,'" Veronica finished.

"Oh, that will embarrass him!" protested the tender-hearted Lucy.

"That's the idea, dearest," Claire said, gently tugging one of her golden locks. "But don't you worry. Our boy can take a little teasing."

"Now! Can we please talk about how adorable it is that Roy doesn't even _see_ what a monster crush he has on this girl?" Ada asked.

"'_She's cute when she smiles like that; I wish she'd smile more often?__**'**_" Lucy and Juliet quoted in unison. The other girls exploded into giggles and squeals.

"Oh, it's a pity they're so young, yet!" Violet lamented. "We could be asking him when the big day will be, and whether we'll get to be bridesmaids, and all! But she's just a baby, yet, not even legal for what, four, five years?"

"I do hope we get to meet her, one day!" Lucy said, clapping her hands together. "Wouldn't it be lovely if they became really close friends, and he brought her around for holidays and then when they got older they fell in love and got married and-"

"All right, all right," Claire laughed, "You're putting the cart before the horse! It'd be nice if they could have a conversation that didn't end in her running away, to start with."

"Right! So, Elinor, tell him to quit spooking the poor kid. Treat her like she's a skittish baby deer. Be quiet, be calm, and let her come to him!" Sophie advised, still laughing.

"And be diligent in his studies! Or old man Hawkeye will chuck him out and all our wisdom will go to waste!" Juliet cried.

Elinor's pen dashed back and forth across the page, recording everything she heard. She smiled to herself, knowing that Roy's ears would burn bright red upon reading this letter, even as Veronica added:

"Dammit, I knew we should have given him kissing tips before he left! How can you explain that in _writing_?"

* * *

**A.N. Chris's girls have been patiently waiting to have their say for AGES now :) They've been breathing down my neck for weeks, so it's nice to finally get them off my back. Though this probably won't be the last we hear from them-they were a lot of fun to write! **

**And yes, Roy's mystery thriller from last chapter was ****The Woman in White****, by Wilkie Collins. Great read for a rainy day (or several-like Dickens, the man was paid by the word, and it shows!) ****Cheers to 'danslaperspectiv' for guessing correctly! And also, thank you very much for the review, since I am unable to respond to you individually! :D**

***Fun fact: If you look very, _very,_ VERY carefully, the names I've chosen for Chris's girls might seem familiar, but only if you are as big a book worm and nerd as I am-each of them, with the exception of one, has her name based on a favorite fictional character of mine. Yes, I have a lot of favorites. No, they are not all from books. When I write from their POV again (somewhere down the line) I will tell you who they are and to whom the original belongs.**

**And so ends the longest Author's Note ever...thanks for reading, everyone!**

**xoxo Janie**


	10. Eighth Entry

**May 15**

* * *

_Thanks awfully for all your advice, girls, I really do appreciate it. Well, except for—YOU know which part! I'll have to start burning your letters in case anyone else gets hold of them, so they won't get the wrong idea. Honestly; she's just a kid! If you're really so concerned for the state of my as-yet-un-burnt-butt, maybe you can tell me what you know about organic chemistry instead of writing the sorts of things that would get me immolated if the wrong person read them…_

* * *

Roy thought that he exercised admirable self-control by not throwing the hateful book across the room. To relieve his feelings, he slammed it shut instead, and gave it a petulant little shove across the table for good measure.

"Stupid organic chemistry," he mumbled, and slumped forward to rest his forehead against the cool wood of the desk. Why was this so damn _hard_? He hadn't had nearly this much trouble with the other assignments his master had given him, up until now.

Rolling his head sluggishly to one side, Roy squinted at the clock across the room. Hm. Maybe his brain felt like mush because he'd been studying the same material for more than eight hours now. Definitely time for a break.

He rose and stretched his stiff, cramped muscles luxuriously. Abandoning the offending book, Roy grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door. He had vague intentions of a taking a brisk walk before going in search of supper, which should be ready just after sunset according to Miss Hawkeye's usual schedule. But when he reached the front hallway, his attention was drawn by the open door of the room he'd mentally termed "the blue parlor."

All thoughts of a walk (and of chemistry) forgotten, Roy curiously and hesitantly stepped into the room. Normally, the door was kept closed, although not locked, and Roy had so far avoided it more from lack of interest than because he was prohibited entry. He'd only had the barest glimpse of it when his teacher had first shown him over the house that first night, but he remembered thinking at the time that this room had probably been the special province of the late Mrs. Hawkeye. It was definitely a feminine room, with the interior all done up in blue and cream, and the occasional accent in gold.

Though it was very much a grown-up lady's sitting room and therefore very seldom used (and Roy knew without having to ask that his teacher never set foot in it), the elegant little parlor didn't have the slightest air of neglect. Not a speck of dust on any surface, not the faintest hint of stale or musty air, and none of those wispy little cobwebs that seem always to materialize in the corners of unused rooms. If it wasn't _quite_ a shrine to the memory of the long-deceased lady of the house, then it was undoubtedly a room that her daughter was at pains to preserve as closely to its original state as possible.

Most boys would have felt vaguely ill at ease in such a place, as though the very femininity of the room were a communicable disease they could catch from prolonged exposure. But Roy was not most boys, and growing up surrounded by women meant that he'd spent a great deal of time in soft, pretty parlors very similar to this one. In fact, everything in the room, from the chintz arm chairs to the delicate translucent curtains at the windows, felt familiar and friendly somehow. Just as the scent of honeysuckle reminded him of the perfume Claire favored, this parlor brought to mind the cool, serene presence of Elinor—she and Violet had a similar space in the home they shared. Which is why he felt at once soothed and refreshed and _at_ _home_, and wondered to himself why he'd never come in here before now.

He spotted a piano in one corner of the room, behind a little grouping of armchairs. Irresistibly drawn to the instrument, Roy moved closer, discarding his jacket on a chair as he passed. He sat down on the little stool and ran an experimental hand over the keys. It seemed to be in working order. Growing bolder, his fingers tripped rapidly up and down a few scales, which led him to conclude that the piano was in fact still in tune. Interesting. Did either of the Hawkeyes ever play it? If so, he'd certainly never heard them. Seemed a shame to let such a fine instrument go to waste.

"Do you play, Mr. Mustang?" a soft voice asked from behind him.

Roy jumped and whirled around to find Miss Hawkeye quietly perched on the edge of a window seat that he hadn't observed before. How long had she been there? Had she come in behind him? But then how had she done so without his seeing her?

And then he noticed that the window seat was set into a little alcove, with heavy brocade drapery on either side that could be pulled across it. They'd been drawn just a moment before, which meant that Miss Hawkeye had already been sitting on the plush blue-cushioned seat, both she and her seat effectively hidden, when Roy had walked in. Since he hadn't known about the seat before now, she might have remained seated quietly, and he'd never have even dreamed she was there. He had the feeling this was significant, somehow, but he couldn't quite wrap his tired brain around why. He did recall that she'd just asked him a question, and was waiting for his answer.

"What? Oh, no, I don't play the piano. At least, not _well_. I took some lessons when I was younger, but I was never much good, so Aunt Chris let me give them up. What about you?"

"No. I never learned," she replied, expression inscrutable. And then Roy remembered his own assumption that this room had been kept exactly as it has always been since the death of Riza's mother, and that the piano had belonged to her as well. The same piano he'd just been tapping idly at as though it was nothing.

Shit.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"Should I…not be in here?" Roy asked at last, unable to bear the silent scrutiny. Something flickered over Miss Riza's face, too fleeting for him to read.

"You aren't forbidden from entering this room," she answered in that careful, quiet way of hers.

"Okay." Fine, but still not helpful. He tried again. "What I meant was: does it bother you that I'm in here?"

"Why should it?" was the reply. Darn her and her habit of answering questions with questions.

"Never mind," Roy mumbled with a little head shake. He rose and moved towards the chair where he'd left his coat. "It's been a really long time since I've been around a piano; I just couldn't resist touching it. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"I never said that you disturbed me," Riza replied softly. Unsure whether he'd heard her correctly, Roy glanced back at her with one hand still reaching for his jacket. She had drawn her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, but she was still watching him carefully.

"No. I suppose you didn't," he said slowly, letting his hand fall again. He wanted to ask her a dozen different questions, but he'd already seen how well _that_ worked with this girl. He also remembered his sisters' advice.

"_Let her come to you_," their letter had said. "_Let her initiate conversations when she feels comfortable, and then follow her lead on the tone and the pace. And for pity's sake stop talking about cooking and cleaning!_" That last point had stung a bit-he'd panicked! But either way, it was Miss Riza's turn to speak, Roy thought. So he waited.

As he'd hoped, and his sisters had predicted, his silence encouraged Riza to elaborate.

"I didn't expect to find you in here," she began, and paused. _It's not someplace a boy your age would normally want to be…It's not someplace the students usually go…It's my parlor, get out and leave me alone already…What made you come in here anyway?_

Roy couldn't be certain _which_ thing she wanted to say, but he could tell that she wasn't exactly saying what was on her mind, and that she wanted to know what he was doing here. Before the pause stretched out interminably, he decided to go ahead and answer her unspoken question.

"The door was open. It's not usually, so I was curious," he offered, shrugging. Of course, she had no way to know about his "sisters," and Roy felt a little shy admitting that he'd been drawn to the room because it reminded him of the girls back home. Instead, he simply added: "It's...pretty. This room, I mean." Miss Hawkeye's face softened a little.

"It was my mother's," she said. Never mind that any idiot should be able to guess as much. She was telling him something, voluntarily, that was clearly very important to her.

"Did she play, then?" he asked, nodding towards the piano.

"Yes," Riza replied quietly. "She was going to teach me," she added, almost as an afterthought. And then, surprising even herself, she continued, "But then she got sick and stopped playing, so...well. I never learned."

"I'm sorry," Roy said. And he really was. After a slightly awkward pause, he moved towards her impulsively. "And now I feel like a jerk. I didn't know it was an important memento of your mom; I won't touch it again, okay?"

"I wasn't...I wasn't trying to make you feel bad," she frowned a little and tightened her arms around her knees.

"I know. You're much too nice a person for that. But I'm sorry all the same." Riza blinked at him in surprise. Roy plunged on ahead. "Would you mind terribly if I came in here sometimes? Not to play, but just to sit and read?"

"Father already told you that you can go where you'd like-" she started to say, looking away.

"Yes, I remember. But would YOU mind it, if I came in here?" he persisted, smiling when her eyes flicked back to his. "I can tell it's a place you like, too. I don't want to get in your way."

"No," she answered, after a brief pause. "I wouldn't mind. It's...fine."

"Thanks," he said cheerfully, inordinately pleased to have her permission. "Hey, could I see-?" And he took a few steps closer, indicating her perch with a small hand gesture.

She shifted aside so that Roy could sit beside her and look out the large window. The untamed tangle of rose bushes from the front corner of the house was outside, just on the other side of the glass. At this time of year, many of the varieties were still putting forth fat buds. In another month they'd be full blown blooms, a riot of color and scent in the hot summer sun.

"Oh," he grinned. "Great view."

"Pretty, aren't they? The roses were my mother's, too," she said quietly.

"There're so many different kinds," he marveled, craning his neck to see over the tops of the bushes closest to the window. He'd noticed them before, but hadn't taken the time to really **look** at them until now.

"My father used to travel quite a bit for his work, before I was born. He brought back all sorts of colors and varieties for my mother to plant. Seedlings, I mean," Riza explained.

"You should prune them back quite a bit, before next spring. They'll be healthier and bloom a lot more, if you do," he said. She turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"Oh?"

"One of my aunt's employees said so, at least," Roy said, a little sheepishly. "Her family has a flower shop, so she's always looking after my aunt's roses and things."

"I know they're too tall and…well, scraggly," she admitted, "but I didn't like the idea of cutting them back so far." Roy understood at once.

"You don't want to harm them." She nodded. "Tell you what. In my next letter I'll ask Sophie for advice and see if she can send us a book about caring for roses. It'll tell us how far to cut and all that, so we won't damage them by accident."

"Thank you," she said with a quiet smile. "I'd like that."

They sat in comfortable silence until the light grew dim, and both remembered that they still had work to do. Roy had skipped his walk, so refreshed by the company and the nostalgia of the parlor that he'd returned to the library and taken up his book with renewed vigor.

It wasn't until much later that evening, when Roy was preparing for bed, that his overwrought brain caught up with the observations he'd made in the parlor: Miss Riza had intentionally, _willingly_ left a hiding place, in his presence, in order to strike up a conversation with him. She might have remained hidden behind the brocade curtains, watching him putter about the parlor, safely hidden from his view, until he'd gotten bored and gone away. As she no doubt had done with other hiding spots, at other times, perhaps with other students.

But instead, she had chosen to draw back the heavy fabric, reveal herself and her hiding place, and even speak to him-_before_ he'd spoken to her. Something she'd never have done even a week earlier.

Maybe he was starting to grow on her, after all.

* * *

**A.N. So sorry for the long wait, my lovelies. Life has this annoying habit of getting in the way. (As does my housemate. Long story short, she is an extrovert. I am not. Cue drama!) Thank you for your patience, as well as the reviews and follows and favorites! As always, feedback is deeply appreciated! **

**xoxo Janie**


	11. Ninth Entry

**May 22**

* * *

_"I woke up this morning and realized something. Several days have gone by since the last time I saw or spoke to Miss Hawkeye, and I've honestly been too busy to even notice. I don't know whether I should be glad that I'm not dwelling on circumstances outside my control, or worried that I'm starting to turn into a real recluse like sensei…"_

* * *

One afternoon, Roy had even looked up from his page to find a fresh cup of tea sitting in front of him, with no recollection of how it had gotten there. He'd made a surprised little noise in his throat, thinking of how often he'd seen Hawkeye-sensei do the same thing and marveled at the older man's lack of awareness. Upon reaching for the steaming cup, he'd caught his teacher's eye, which had been sparkling with amusement. The older man's lips had curved upward into a strange little smile, and he'd shaken his head slightly, as if to say: "_I know; she does it to me all the time_." But before Roy had been able to comment, Berthold had neatly caught the book out of his hands and proceeded to quiz him on his comprehension of the material. Which he was still struggling with, unfortunately.

In spite of all the rumors of Master Hawkeye being such a tyrannical and impossible-to-please taskmaster, Roy found him to be an extremely patient and encouraging instructor. Berthold explained and re-explained the more difficult concepts, referred Roy to books and passages of books that would help him, and pushed him to delve deeper into the theories and foundations of the science rather than just learning formulas and sigils by rote without understanding them.

"Comprehension, not memorization. That is vital," he often said. And when Roy failed to solve an equation, or came up with the wrong solution for one of his tasks, Berthold did not storm or rage or glower. He didn't even seem very disappointed. He simply nodded solemnly, gave him another assignment that was similar but not identical, and told Roy to try again.

Certain days were more taxing than others, and Roy left his teacher's study feeling like his head would explode from sheer frustration. On these days, he often sought solace in physical activity. At first, it had just been long, brisk walks around the estate or into the forest along the northern boundary of the Hawkeye property. Stomping over the fallen twigs and branches there had given him another idea, and with his teacher's permission he'd taken to splitting logs into firewood to work off his irritation. Roy was having a hard time picturing either Berthold or Riza out here doing this sort of thing—it was hot, dirty, sweaty work. He was fairly certain that his sensei just used some sort of alchemic reaction to break up the huge chunks of wood normally, unless he simply bartered with his neighbors for their help. Either way, there were plenty of raw materials to work with—large cylindrical sections of soft, fragrant pine and more dense rounds of oak lay in haphazard piles behind the barn.

Roy spent hours splitting the large round sections into manageable pieces, and then stacking cords neatly against the barn, finding that his annoyance and frustration drained away as the sweat poured off his body and the blisters sprang up on his tender hands. The monotony of swinging the axe again and again quieted his racing mind, at least temporarily. He also found that having stiff, aching muscles led to deeper and more restful sleep, rather than hours spent staring at the ceiling and trying desperately _not_ to go over the material in his head while feeling like a hopeless failure for not having mastered it already.

Today had been one of the most difficult days yet, but for some reason chopping and stacking wood was not having its usual calming effect. Deep down, Roy knew that working out his exasperation on the wood, while satisfying, was not doing him any real good. Ignoring his difficulties would not make them vanish, and indulging in his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing would not lead to an epiphany.

Chris had been absolutely correct when she'd said that Roy had never really wanted something badly enough to really give it his all before. He'd always been a bright kid, and things had come almost _too_ easily to him—he had only to _try _and he succeeded. Now, for the first time in his life, he was actually being challenged. And finding it—well, _challenging_. He was learning what it felt like to really work at something: to follow after his dream until his legs could no longer carry him onward; to dig for it with his own two hands until they bled; to run after it until he had no air left in his lungs. And after all of that—to _want_ it still and keep striving after it.

Roy was only just beginning to feel that alchemy was that dream for him, even if he didn't yet know how far he was willing to go. Hitting a roadblock so early on was extremely discouraging. And Roy's usual cheerful spirit floundered in the face of such an impediment.

But the equation wouldn't solve itself, and he had wasted enough time for one day. So at last, Roy mopped his streaming face on his shirt and headed back.

Though he hadn't been looking for her, exactly, Roy was pleased when he staggered wearily around the corner of the barn and spotted Miss Riza standing outside near her garden beds. She was…was she throwing something on the ground? Seeds, maybe? No, something bigger, less uniformly shaped. Oh! They were bread crumbs, he realized. She was scattering stale, crumbled bread on the bare earth, and dozens of tiny birds, mostly of the sparrow and finch variety, were fluttering and hopping about her feet. She seemed to be laughing. And… yes, he was sure of it—she was _talking_ to the little birds; he could see her lips moving. But he was still too far away to hear anything other than an indistinct murmur punctuated with soft, girlish laughter.

Well. If that wasn't sufficient inducement to procrastinate a little longer, then he didn't know what was.

She spotted him as soon as he started moving in her direction, but she stood her ground. Brushing the last of the crumbs from her hands and shaking her now-empty apron for good measure, she smiled one last time at her feathered companions before raising her eyes to meet Roy's.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mustang," she said softly.

"Hey, Miss Hawkeye," he replied in a somewhat subdued tone. She raised her eyebrows, but didn't comment at his unusually melancholic behavior.

"Chopping wood, again?" she asked instead. Roy nodded and stretched his overtaxed arms over his head, wincing a little.

"You'll have enough to last a decade, if I keep this up," he said, with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I don't suppose you have any chores out here you need a hand with?"

"Can't bear to be indoors on a day like this, Mr. Mustang?" she asked with the faintest trace of amusement.

"No…well, yes, but it's more that I'm trying to avoid having to think about alchemy for a little while," he grumbled. Riza's expression softened a little in understanding.

"I have some weeding to do, in the vegetable beds. I wouldn't mind an extra pair of hands, if you wanted something else to do," she offered.

"Perfect!" he answered, in an _almost_ cheerful voice.

As Roy was in no mood to chat, and Riza was her usual reticent self, there was very little conversation between them as they worked, except for things like: "Just place them in a pile, over there," or "Here's an extra pair of gloves for you," or "Not that one! That's a carrot!"

After an hour or so of this, Roy was dirtier and more exhausted than ever, but Miss Riza's vegetable and herb beds were weed-free. He could feel her eyes on him as he stooped to gather the pile of weeds they'd collected, but she only brushed the loose earth off of her gardening gloves and quietly thanked him for his help.

Riza glided away to prepare dinner, while Roy trudged upstairs to clean up. When he returned to the kitchen, he saw with surprise and delight that she'd set a place for herself across from his usual spot at the table. She excused herself only long enough to deliver her father's portion to his room, and then they sat down to their evening meal together for the first time.

"By the way, I wanted to apologize for ignoring you, the other day," Roy said, cheered somewhat by his hot shower and the heavily laden plate that Miss Riza had just set in front of him.

"Hm?" she said, absently, sparing him a glance while she filled her own plate.

"A few days ago, in the study," he clarified. "You brought me tea, and I didn't even realize until after you were gone. And thanks for that, too, I really needed it."

"Oh. You're welcome," she said, tilting her head very slightly to one side. "You seemed pretty engrossed in the material."

"Yeah, I've gotten to a rough part," he admitted, rather sheepishly. "Organic chemistry does not come naturally to me, apparently."

"You've started that already?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, about two weeks ago," he mumbled, stabbing a piece of chicken viciously with his fork.

"You're doing well, then," Riza answered. Roy swallowed hastily to keep from spitting his mouthful of chicken and vegetables across the table.

"I—what?" he exclaimed. Doing _well_? How did she figure?

"You must be doing well, or else Father wouldn't have started such an advanced topic," Miss Riza said matter-of-factly. Roy just stared at her in amazement.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Mm-hm. Most of the others don't get so far in twice the time that you've been here," Miss Riza said, calmly sipping her drink. And if anyone could understand Berthold's teaching methods, it would be Miss Riza, Roy supposed.

"Huh," he managed to say. For several minutes, the two children ate in near silence as Roy mulled this idea over in his head. When she put it like that…he was being rather an idiot about all this, wasn't he? Finally Roy snorted softly and shook his head, setting his utensils down on his empty plate. "I guess I should stop feeling so sorry for myself, huh?"

Riza didn't reply, but waited patiently for Roy to explain himself.

"I…I've rather forgotten, these past couple of days, just how lucky I am. I mean, not everyone has the kind of opportunity I've got, and here I am whining because I haven't mastered something in days that takes most people months or even _years_ to learn…I've been feeling a little sorry for myself," Roy confessed.

Miss Riza didn't say that she'd noticed, but Roy knew that she had by the way her eyebrows and lips twitched.

"Instead of moping around, I should be trying harder," he continued, addressing his words to his empty plate while he twisted his napkin in his lap. "I should be making more of an effort to ensure I don't disappoint sensei and not pouting because I can't just breeze through everything he has to teach me," he finished more softly. Looking up at last, Roy saw that Miss Riza was watching him with steady interest.

"He wouldn't have bothered, if he didn't know you were capable of learning it," was her reply. And then she looked away quickly, as though afraid to reveal anything more. Roy hated that she looked nervous. Why should she be nervous? How could he be annoyed or bothered by her words when she was complimenting him, anyway? But that was an issue for another day. She was trying to reassure him, and it was working.

He wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand affectionately, as though she was one of his "sisters," but he refrained. Instead, he cleared his throat and waited until her serious eyes flicked back to his.

"Thanks," he said softly, with a sincere and warm smile. "I think I've mostly got it out of my system now."

Miss Riza just smiled at him in return, before rising to collect the dishes from the table.

As a matter of fact, Roy did not get any more of his work done that night. He did, however, fall asleep with a smile on his lips and renewed determination in his heart.

* * *

**A.N. ****This was going to be a much fluffier chapter about Roy seeing how Riza acts when she thinks she's alone, but then Roy went and had an existential crisis on me...so this happened. **And this is now officially the longest story I have ever submitted! Thank you all again for your support and encouragement-I would not have made it this far without it! 

**xoxo Janie**


	12. Tenth Entry

**May 29**

* * *

_"You'll never guess what happened today. It all started when I woke up at an ungodly hour before the sun was even up. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I finally headed downstairs in the hope that Miss Hawkeye would be up too, and willing to keep me company again…"_

* * *

It really was painfully early when Roy woke with a vague sense of unease pricking at the edges of his subconscious. After trying and failing to just roll back over and sleep for a bit longer, he finally dragged on some clothes and made his way to the kitchen.

Just as the water began to boil for tea, he heard something—a faint cry. With a shaking hand, he moved the hissing kettle off the flame and listened intently. There! There it was again, a weak cry for help. It was coming from outside! He threw open the door, paused a second to listen, and then darted around the side of the house with his stomach in knots.

Though he ought to have expected it, he was shocked to find Miss Hawkeye lying there in the grass in the early morning light.

She was curled in on herself, and very clearly in pain. Eyes bright with unshed tears, Riza turned her face toward him in a mute and pathetic plea. Roy gasped aloud and ran to her, and her desperate look dissolved into one of mingled relief and anxiety.

"Omigod, are you all right?" he asked, dropping to the ground at her side. "What happened? Did you fall?" Without waiting for an answer, he reached out to touch her. Riza flinched away from his hand reflexively, and cried out in pain as she jarred her own injury. "Sorry!" Roy exclaimed. "I should've asked...where are you hurt?"

"My shoulder, and my arm," she whispered.

"Right. OK, here, can you sit up?" He slid a hand beneath her lower back and carefully helped her up to a sitting position. She whimpered very slightly, but bit her lip to keep from crying out again.

"Here, let me have a look at it," he said gently, trying to remain calm. She was holding her arm at an odd angle, and it was probably either broken or dislocated. At least there was no blood, and no protruding bone. That had to be a good thing. "Right, okay. Stay right here, Miss Hawkeye, I'm going to go find your father," he said, starting to rise to his feet.

"NO!" she cried, louder than he'd ever heard her speak before. She looked as surprised as he did, and then she blushed. "I, um, I don't want to disturb him; I'm sure he's busy with his research, if he's even up yet," she said quickly.

"Disturb—? But—this is a little more important, I'm sure he'd want to know about—"

"Please, if you'd only help me stand up, I'll just go to the surgeon's by myself. He'll know how to fix it," she pleaded. Roy eyed her uncertainly, and she pressed on. "Then Father won't have to worry. By the time he wakes up, it will already be taken care of," she said earnestly, looking directly into Roy's eyes. He caved.

"A-all right, if you're sure. I'm coming with you, then," he said determinedly.

She looked almost as worried about that option as she had been when he mentioned fetching her father. Roy carefully pulled her up by her good arm, and looked grim when she yipped and crashed against him.

"Um-hm. I don't think you'll be walking there all by yourself on a sprained ankle. Come on, you can lean on me and we'll go together. I don't suppose any of the neighbors have a pony or anything we could borrow?" She shook her head, clearly chagrined. "Oh, well. Can't be helped. Come on, I won't bite you," he teased her lightly when she hesitated. She blushed and lowered her head, trying to hide her eyes.

"You don't have to do this, Mr. Mustang," she said.

"Well, of course I don't HAVE to do anything; no one's forcing me..." he smiled crookedly at her. "But I'd like to help you. If you'll let me, that is."

"Really, I'll manage just fine on my own," she protested again, more weakly this time.

"On that ankle? I mean, technically I suppose you could, but why torture yourself? I'm sure you'd manage it alone somehow if you _had_ to, although it'd be pretty rough…you'll only hurt your foot more if you try to walk on it, you know."

"I don't want to be a burden to you," she said quietly. Roy looked down at her with mingled pity and surprise.

"You're not a burden at all. That's what friends do, help each other when they're down," he smiled. It was Riza's turn to look surprised.

"Friends?" Roy flushed a little.

"Well, _I'd_ like for us to be friends, but I'll still help you regardless of what you think of me," he replied with an embarrassed little shrug.

"Then, if you're sure it's not too much trouble…I would appreciate your help, Mr. Mustang," she finally managed. Roy beamed.

"We'd better get going; it's a long walk. The doctor lives close to the train station, right?"

"Yes."

She limped along all right for the first few minutes, but Roy could tell that she was trying not to lean too much on him.

"Think you can hold on to me with only one arm?" he asked, eyeing a nearby fence. "You could ride piggyback."

"I...I don't think so," Riza grimaced slightly, cradling her arm to her chest. "It really hurts to move it. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for something like that," he scolded. Geez, this girl. "Here, let me try this for a while, then," and he literally swept her off her feet. She squeaked in shock, but found that her good arm was the one around his neck, and the bad arm was cradled against her chest just as before.

"Oh! I—um. Are you sure this is all right?" she asked, embarrassed.

"I'm all right if you are," he replied. "This way at least we aren't making your ankle worse by putting weight on it." He walked faster carrying her than they had been moving with her hobbling on the bad ankle, and he covered the remaining distance in no time.

* * *

The look on the doctor's face was pretty priceless when he looked up from his morning coffee to see a strange boy approaching his door while carrying that _particular_ young girl in his arms. He managed to compose himself by the time they reached the door, which he hastened to open for them.

"What's all this, Miss Hawkeye?" the doctor said cheerfully, looking at her with an experienced eye. "Hm, anterior shoulder dislocation, I see. And is there something wrong with her leg as well?"

"I think it might be a sprained ankle, sir," Roy said deferentially. "It hurt her to put weight on it, but she hadn't noticed anything wrong until she tried to stand."

"No, I rather imagine not, when she had that shoulder to worry about," the doctor answered. "All right, Miss Hawkeye, don't you fret. We'll fix you right up. Young man, if you would be so kind? This way, please," he said, and led the way into his exam room. Roy followed with Riza, whom he set carefully down on the exam table as the doctor requested.

The doctor ran gentle fingers over her arm and shoulder, nodding and clucking when she inhaled sharply. "I see. You're a very brave girl not to cry, my dear; I know how much pain you must be in." He searched a cabinet nearby, and came out with a syringe and a vial.

Catching sight of Riza's wide and frightened eyes, Roy moved a little closer to the exam table. He recognized the signs; Ada had a needle phobia as well. Riza gripped his sleeve with her good hand, which he patted reassuringly as she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. The doctor jabbed her quickly, explaining as he did so:

"This is just a local anesthetic. We're going to have to get that shoulder back into place, and this will help with the pain. When you leave, dear, we'll send you home with some pain medication as well." Turning to Roy, whose hand was still resting on Riza's, he added, "I'm sure we can trust you to look after her and ensure she takes them, er—?"

"Roy Mustang, sir. And yes, sir, I'll take care of her," he said firmly. The doctor grinned. He liked this kid's spunk.

"Good man. Now, could you just run along to the tea shop and bring me my nurse? She's a plump blonde woman wearing a lab coat; I'll need her assistance for this next part. In the meantime, my dear, let's take a look at that ankle," he said, looking back at Riza.

By the time Roy and the nurse returned, the doctor had wrapped Miss Hawkeye's ankle tightly. "This should heal up in a week or so," he was saying. "Just try to stay off of it as much as possible. Ah, Mr. Mustang. Could you wait outside for just a moment, please? I think our patient might prefer some privacy while we attend to this next bit."

Roy blinked in confusion, but caught on a second later when the kind-faced nurse started to unbutton Miss Hawkeye's dress. Roy promptly flushed and made himself scarce.

From the waiting room, he could hear the soothing murmurs of the nurse, the lower rumbles of the doctor's voice, and twice, heart rending cries from the younger girl. He chewed his lip, wondering what his teacher would say when he learned of his daughter's injuries. What had she been doing, anyway? It looked like she'd fallen out of the tree she'd been lying under, but what was she doing climbing it in the first place? It's not like Miss Riza was the type who climbed trees just for fun...or was she? She didn't _seem_ to be. He wondered whether she'd answer if he asked her outright.

After what felt like hours, the doctor emerged with Riza, whose arm was now in a sling.

"Miss Hawkeye tells me the two of you walked all the way here from her father's house?" he said, with one eyebrow raised in query.

"Yes, sir," he started to answer. "Hawkeye-sensei doesn't keep a horse, and so we—"

"That's not right, Doctor James," Riza interrupted, her voice shy and sleepy. "_Mr_. _Mustang_ walked the whole way here; I was carried. But itzokay, cuz he's not like any of _them_." The doctor chuckled a little.

"Ah, the pain pills must be kicking in," he said in an aside to Roy. "She'll probably be a bit out of it for a while," he said, and passed a small bottle to Roy. "Give them to her every six to eight hours as needed for pain. She'll be good as new in a couple weeks; the sprain wasn't too bad. Now, I know she's a little stubborn, but try to keep her off that ankle as much as possible, won't you, son?"

"Yes, sir. I'll do my best, sir," Roy answered, reaching out to stabilize the girl, who had swayed slightly.

"Now, I don't doubt a strong lad like yourself could carry Miss Hawkeye the whole way home as well, but why don't you let me give you kids a lift instead?" he said kindly, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Thank you, sir, that would be great," Roy replied.

They piled into the doctor's old truck, settling Riza between them on the long bench seat. Before the truck had even made it out of the driveway, she'd closed her eyes and laid her head on Roy's shoulder. A bit pleased, Roy chose to accept it as a sign that she trusted him enough to relax, even if it was only because she was exhausted and loopy from the pills.

When the truck pulled up to the Hawkeye estate, the doctor peered through the windshield. He fixed questioning eyes on the windows of the upper floor that belonged to the master of the house.

"I suppose Berthold must be at a delicate phase of his _research_ if he sent his apprentice to escort his daughter, rather than bring her to me himself," the doctor said casually. Roy recognized the fishing tactic; his aunt was an expert at leading questions like those. He didn't resent it, as he knew the man was more concerned for the Miss Hawkeye's well-being than anything else.

"Hawkeye-sensei doesn't even know that she got hurt yet," he answered honestly. "I'm the one who heard her calling out, and we both thought it would be best to get her medical attention right away. Actually," he hesitated, and glanced down at his pocket watch with a furrowed brow. "Sensei _may_ still be sleeping at this hour. He's a bit of a night owl, you see, so sometimes he's not up until almost noon. I'll wake him as soon as she's settled and explain everything, sir."

The doctor pursed his lips but didn't say anything else, satisfied but not altogether pleased with the explanation. Roy opened the door, and Riza drowsily started to jump down after him. He caught her around the waist, preventing her from landing on her bad ankle just before her feet hit the ground.

"Whoa, easy now, Miss Hawkeye," he chided, and laughed a little at the cute frown she gave him. "Thank you very much, doctor. We appreciate all your help," he said, and managed a small bow to the old doctor even with the girl leaning heavily on him.

"You take good care of her, son," Dr. James replied.

"I will. I promise, sir," Roy replied solemnly.

The good doctor watched as Roy guided his patient to the doorway, and waited until they'd fumbled indoors before driving slowly away.

"Hmm. You may be right, Riza-chan," he said softly to himself. "This boy might be different after all."

* * *

Roy paused at the bottom of the stairs, daunted.

"Let's just hope sensei doesn't get the wrong idea and light my ass on fire," he mumbled, eyeing the increasingly delirious girl wavering beside him. Somehow carrying her upstairs seemed a lot more awkward when he considered that he might run into her father. Whose express instructions had been to leave his daughter alone, if he recalled correctly.

"What's all this?" a harsh voice from behind him rang out.

Roy froze, horrified. Before he could speak, Riza raised her head from off his shoulder.

"Hi, Papa," she said affectionately. The glower on Berthold's face faltered as she beamed up at him, but his sharp eyes lingered on the sling on her arm and the bandage on her ankle.

"What happened, child?" he asked in a slightly softer tone. But she had already closed her eyes again. Roy staggered slightly as she went limp against him.

Without further ado, Hawkeye darted forward and gathered his daughter into his arms, cradling her as though she was made of glass. He brushed past Roy and glided rapidly up the stairs, betraying a level of fitness Roy had not suspected him to be capable of.

Over his shoulder, he simply said, "Wait for me in my study, please."

Heart pounding, Roy slunk down the hallway toward the warmth and light of the library. Sitting on the very edge of his favorite armchair there, he wondered whether he was about to be sent packing. Surely, he'd be given a chance to explain first, right? Or had it been little things like this that had lost the other apprentices their places?

After all, of the few rules his teacher had given him, number one had been not to bother his daughter...and here she was, obviously injured and acting like she was drunk or something, with her dress all rumpled and dirty...of course his teacher would be suspicious. Any father would! And after all of his resolve and hard work, and his aunt's careful arrangements, he'd be sent packing for failing to be cautious of his conduct.

Anxious and sick, Roy hung his head.

"Mr. Mustang," Hawkeye said behind him. Roy jumped. He hadn't even heard the man approaching. How the hell did those two move so quietly? "My daughter tells me that you accompanied her to the doctor this morning," the older man continued.

"I—um, yes, sir. I did," Roy stammered.

"I thank you for looking after her. Due to the nature of her injuries, I must ask you to see to your own meals for the next several days, as she will need her rest while she recovers."

Speechless, Roy could only watch his teacher cross his room and sit behind his desk. Hawkeye reached for a heavy text that had been sitting off to one side.

"Now then, here is the treatise on microbiology I promised to find for you. I would like for you to finish reading this by next week so that we can incorporate it into your lesson." He raised an eyebrow when the boy simply gaped at him. "Is something the matter?"

"I—I just...I mean, I thought…you aren't angry with me?" he said, numbly accepting the book from his teacher's still outstretched hands.

"Should I be?" The older man replied, the slightest hint of amusement showing in his eyes. Roy struggled to gather his thoughts.

"Well, I was afraid that you, er, that you might think that I'd—," he stumbled over the words. "I mean, Miss Hawkeye was hurt pretty badly, and with whatever the doctor gave her for the pain, she wasn't exactly coherent when we came in just now, and..." he trailed off nervously, unsure of how to proceed. His teacher saved him the trouble.

"If I thought you were responsible in any way for her injuries, you would not still be standing here," Berthold said coolly. A shiver ran down Roy's spine. "Given her current state, it is very clear that your assistance to my daughter was invaluable. I am grateful to you," he finished in a slightly gentler tone.

"Anyone would have done the same in my place, sir," Roy said humbly. "I'd have done as much for any of my own sisters." Though his head was slightly bowed, he caught a calculating look in his teacher's eyes, and wondered what it meant. After a moment, the older man spoke again.

"We have much to work on today. You may go now, my boy."

Permission granted thus, Roy quickly escaped to the solitude of his own room. He glanced back over his shoulder as he slipped out of the door to see his teacher's head already bent over his work.

It wasn't until he pulled off his coat and heard a clattering sound that he realized he'd forgotten to tell anyone about the pain pills the doctor had left him. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, he pocketed the bottle again and glanced at the clock. He'd just take them in to her when it was time to take another dose. Finally, he settled down with his book to study.

* * *

Exactly six hours later, Roy carefully balanced a tray in his hands and hesitated outside of Miss Hawkeye's closed bedroom door. What if she was sleeping? He couldn't just let himself into a girl's room without her permission, regardless of his intentions. He'd learned THAT the hard way with his sisters, years ago. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, and was faintly relieved to hear a weak voice call out in response.

"Yes?"

Roy pushed the door open. For a moment, Miss Hawkeye just blinked at him while he stood awkwardly in the doorway, and then her eyes focused on the tray in his hand. Confusion stamped all over her face, she made a move to sit up in her bed, but immediately winced and grabbed her shoulder.

"Easy." He hastily set the tray on the nightstand beside her bed and reached for her. "Huh, dèja vu," he chuckled. "Here, let me help you..." He helped her settle against her pillows in a more comfortable position, noting as he did that she looked slightly feverish. She turned bright, glassy eyes on him, questioning silently what he wanted.

"Oh, erm, here," he said, gesturing to the tray he'd brought in. "This is the medicine the doc gave me for you. And, well, pills usually go down easier when you have a bit of food on your stomach, so I brought you some miso soup," he fussed with the glass of water and the pills on the tray, feeling a little foolish.

He'd been hoping that she would think a little better of him, now. Their last few conversations had certainly been more cordial than their earliest ones, and she'd even trusted him to help her when she'd needed someone…but being here in her room right now, there was more tension than ever between them.

Maybe that was part of it, he realized. Though the circumstances were outside of her control, she'd allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him, which was something she'd very carefully avoided up until now.

Roy cleared his throat and straightened up, preparing to leave. "It's not much, but it's a kind of broth my aunt always makes whenever anyone is sick. It's really light, so if you're hungry for anything else, just tell me and I'll do my best to make it."

"Thank you, but please—you needn't trouble yourself over me," she murmured, eyes lowered.

"It's no trouble," he replied, his smile faltering a bit. Was he just making things worse by forcing his way in here? Maybe Claire was right and he should just leave her alone; give her some space. After all, Riza had been taking care of both her father and herself for years, and she might resent his trying to wrest control of the situation. He edged towards the door.

"I don't really **have** to take the pills, do I?" Riza asked, in a small voice that made her sound like a much younger girl. Roy paused.

"Well, if you really don't want to, then I guess you don't have to," he mused. "But doesn't your shoulder hurt? Or your ankle?" he asked, incredulous. "The pills are meant to help with the pain. Why don't you want them?"

"It's...it's just that the ones before made me feel strange," she said, frowning a little.

"Oh, right. You seemed a little out of it, and the doc mentioned that they'd probably make you sleepy," he said. Color bloomed in her pale cheeks. Roy hid a smile.

"I can't just lie in bed all day; there are things I should be doing," she said, her fingers plucking nervously at her comforter.

"And that's probably why he gave you these," Roy chuckled. "You shouldn't be doing _anything_ with your ankle and shoulder all busted like that. He wanted you to rest, so that you heal faster."

Roy held out the bottle of pills and the glass of water. Riza glared at them, a slight pout on her face. Gosh, but she was cute with her lower lip sticking out like that. After a moment, he softened.

"What if we make a deal?" he offered.

"What kind of deal?" she said warily, clutching her bedclothes and shrinking slightly away from him. Damn it. He wasn't just imagining it, he was sure this time. Slowly, he set the glass back on the tray. What on earth was with these trust issues of hers? What did she think he was going to ask her to do?

"Just this: you don't have to take any pills, but in exchange, you promise to stay quietly in your room, and not to do any chores for the next couple of days," Roy said. "That way, I'm not really breaking my promise to Dr. James, and you're still taking it easy and letting your body heal. Come on, what do you say?"

She looked at him like he'd just grown wings. "You—just want me to rest? That's it?"

Seriously, what had she expected him to say? Roy frowned a little.

"Well...yeah," he said. "Because I told the doc I'd look after you, remember? Oh, I guess you wouldn't, if you were already asleep by then," he grinned, and her eyes flashed, which amused him even more than the pink cheeks.

He was really starting to enjoy getting a reaction out of her. And she was starting to get worse at hiding her reactions from him.

"And besides, I'm sure the chores can wait until you're feeling better. I'll even help you, if you want, after lessons. I did okay with the weeding, right? I mean, after I figured out which ones were the carrots…"

Riza opened her mouth, as though to protest, and then shut it again. Roy grinned, and put out his hand.

"Deal?" Slowly, she extended her good arm.

"Deal," she echoed, softly. And she shook his hand solemnly.

* * *

**A.N. Extra-long chapter courtesy of the three-day Memorial Day weekend :D I almost made it two, but then I couldn't decide where to break it up, so...I didn't!**

**Thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites, everyone! **

**xoxo Janieshi**


	13. Eleventh Entry

**May 30, 12:24 am**

* * *

_"I left a bit after that so I could get to work on that microbiology text sensei brought for me, and when dinner time came around I attempted to make beef stew for sensei and myself. We both missed Miss Riza's usual skill in the kitchen. Even if sensei forgets to eat half the time, the man knows decent cooking when he tastes it, and I'm a poor substitute for his daughter._

_ I took Miss Riza some, too, but she'd fallen back asleep by then, so I don't know what she thought of it or whether she even ate it…but I mean to check on her again before I go to bed to see if she needs anything else. She must hate being stuck up in her room all day like this. The sooner she's back on her feet the better. (And __**not**__ just because I can only make about three dishes that are even remotely edible!)"_

* * *

Massaging the muscle cramps in his hand, Roy tiptoed down the hall to check on Miss Hawkeye one last time. Finding her asleep, he gently tugged the novel out of her slack hands and set it on the nightstand, careful to mark her place with the bookmark. Before turning off her lamp, he studied her thoughtfully, struck by what a pretty picture she made.

At some point she'd changed into a lacey pink nightgown, a feminine frivolity which amused Roy because he hadn't expected it from such a serious girl. Even with her short hair disarranged from sleep, Riza bore more than a passing resemblance to a porcelain doll with her pink nightie, rosy lips, and ivory skin. She really was awfully cute like this, Roy thought with a smile.

He started to reach for the light again, stealing one last glance at the sleeping girl. But it occurred to him that as cute as she was, Miss Hawkeye's flushed cheeks were just a little **too** pink to be altogether healthy.

Without stopping to think, Roy gently brushed Miss Riza's hair away from her forehead and laid his hand on the exposed skin. Rather warm, he mused, but not exactly burning up, either. A low grade fever, then, but since she wasn't shivering or sweating, it was probably all right. Just as he removed his hand and straightened up again, Riza stirred.

"Papa?" she murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and focused on the boy standing over her. "Oh, it's Mr. Mustang," she amended, blinking sleepily up at him.

"Ah, I'm sorry. Did I wake you? I was just going to turn out your light," he explained a little anxiously. Had she felt his hand on her forehead? He really shouldn't have done that; suppose she'd taken offence?

"No, it's all right," she said, stifling a yawn. "I feel like I've been asleep most of the day, anyway. What time is it?" Roy consulted his pocket watch.

"Half past twelve," he announced. Her face fell. "What's wrong?"

"No, it's nothing," she mumbled, looking away. She couldn't be feeling well, he thought. Aside from the two bright pink cheeks, the rest of her face was several shades paler than usual, and her eyes looked glassy.

"So, how's your shoulder feeling?" he asked.

"It's still sore, but better than it was," she replied, shifting a little against her pillows with a little half-grimace. "My ankle hurts the most, at the moment."

"Ah, maybe you should have taken those pills, after all," Roy suggested.

"Maybe. If only they didn't make my head feel so funny," she sighed. "I don't like feeling all …floaty like that." Roy hid a smile.

"Hey, I was gonna head down to make some tea; d'you want anything? Hot cocoa or water or something?"

"Tea sounds nice; if you're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. Be right back," he said brightly.

He returned ten minutes later bearing a hastily thrown together tray laden with teapot, cups, sugar bowl and a plate of buttered toast, each golden piece liberally sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

"Just in case you're hungry," he grinned when he saw her notice the triangles of cinnamon toast. She hesitated for just a moment, and then took one while Roy poured out the tea. "Sugar?"

"Please," she said, watching him add a heaping spoonful to her cup. She accepted it with a murmur of thanks, and Roy took a moment to drag an armchair from the corner of her room so that he could sit beside her while they shared the midnight snack.

"This is…odd," Riza said suddenly.

"What, you never had a midnight tea party in bed before?" Roy quipped, licking a crumb off his lip.

"Well…no," she answered, smiling a little.

"You've been missing out, then," he said cheekily. They munched their toast in silence for a moment, and then Roy set his cup in its saucer with a little _clink_ and cleared his throat. "So…I've been meaning to ask you something. Promise you'll answer honestly, okay?"

"Okay..." she said slowly, the tiny smile fading away. Roy looked earnestly and steadily into her eyes.

"I don't want to be a nuisance and I'm pretty sure your father would skin me alive if he thought I was doing anything to upset you. So I thought I should probably just ask you straight out: am I annoying you?"

"Oh!" she said, clearly caught off guard.

"Not just with this," he hastened on, gesturing at the cups and now empty plate of toast. "But in general, I mean. I'm not forcing you to endure my company or anything, am I?"

"No, not at all," Riza replied quietly. "You aren't annoying me at all."

"It's okay if I am, or if I do at some point. You just say the word and I'll leave you alone," Roy continued. And then he flashed his brilliant smile at her. "But now I'm making you uncomfortable by talking about it, and you're already feeling ill. Is the tea all right?"

"It's perfect, thank you," she said softly. "And, while we're on the subject…I didn't get a chance to thank you properly earlier, for helping me get to the doctor and everything." She toyed with her teacup, choosing her words carefully. "You were very kind, to go through all that trouble on my account. I appreciate it."

"It wasn't trouble at all," he insisted. "Anyone else would have done the same."

"No. They really wouldn't," Riza replied, with a little shake of her head. "Anyway…thank you." Roy shrugged, beginning to feel a bit embarrassed.

Really, what kind of jerk would he have to be, to find an injured, helpless girl lying on the ground at his feet, only to walk away and just leave her there? _Oh, you're hurt and can't get up? Gee, that's too bad. Well, see ya around; I've got sigils to study!_

"Um, you're welcome," he mumbled, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, I was glad to be able to do something for you for a change. You're always doing so much for _my_ benefit." She blinked at him.

And then, to his surprise and mortification, she giggled. But she sobered quickly when she saw his expression.

"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you," she explained anxiously. "It's just that—no one has ever said that to me."

"Really?" he asked, incredulous. None of the other students noticed or appreciated that she made all the meals, and did all the laundry and the cleaning, and…just about everything else besides the actual teaching around here?

"Most of my father's students just ignore me entirely," she reminded him. "And...I never minded that before."

Roy had the feeling she'd just admitted something extremely personal.

"Would you rather that I ignore you, too?" he asked softly.

"Oh, no! I-I mean..." Riza stammered, confused.

Ah-ha! So she _did_ care. At least a little bit.

"All right then," he smiled, encouraged. "Anyway, **_I_** appreciate all the stuff you do around here," he said quickly, looking down at his teacup. Although she hadn't really been laughing at him before, Roy's ego still stung a bit from the imagined blow. "I meant what I said before, about wanting us to be friends," he continued, as nonchalantly as he possibly could. "So…so just tell me if I do anything that bothers you, okay?"

He risked a glance at her face and found her watching him with something like tenderness in her expression. Her lips curved slowly upwards when he met her eyes.

"Okay," she answered softly.

* * *

Really, Roy should've known better. But it had been such an important and noteworthy event, disrupting their usual routine as it had…how could he not write about it in great detail? In the end, he had taken up nearly five full pages (front AND back) with his tiny, neat handwriting, telling them all about it in as much detail as he could recall.

He hadn't even thought about how his "sisters" would react; he was far too caught up in the story he was telling to be self-conscious about his role in it. If he'd read it over when he'd been a bit calmer, Roy would have realized, perhaps, what kind of scene he was offering up to their scrutiny: A young man literally sweeping an injured young girl into his arms and carrying her to help and safety…willing to risk the wrath of her formidable father in order to assist her…using duty as an excuse to check up on her…admitting that he was glad to have this opportunity to get a little closer to her.

Was it any wonder that Chris's girls were beside themselves when they'd read the letter?

Chris herself merely smiled her usual secretive smile as the girls giggled madly and gossiped and asked each other pointed questions.

_This is getting more and more interesting by the day,_ she thought.

* * *

**A.N. Something short and sweet to tide you over until I can get the kinks out of the next chapter :D Thank you for all the reviews and favorites and follows, everyone, and thank you all for your patience!**

**xoxo Janie**


	14. Meanwhile, Back at the Bar

**June 5**

* * *

When the Brigadier General next slipped into her bar, Chris automatically walked up to her office to fetch the packet of letters. But she stood there silently, with one hand on the handle of her open desk drawer, staring down at the neat packet and the papers underneath it, for several long minutes.

So far Chris had kept her opinions about Grumman's interest in this man, this alchemist Berthold Hawkeye, to herself. She wondered now whether to speak to Grumman as the old friend he was, or as the client with whom she maintained a solid professional relationship.

Either way, she thought, picking up the packet, it was time that she cleared a few things up.

"You're a bit early this week, old man," she murmured as she set his drink down. "My girls haven't finished squabbling over the last letter yet." Grumman just smiled up at her.

"What, I can't come in without an ulterior motive?" he said cheekily. She just raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed. "All right, you caught me. I find the boy a very capable storyteller. I feel like I'm waiting for the latest installment of some weekly periodical story."

"It is a rather interesting read, isn't it?" Chris chuckled, settling into the seat beside him. "This week's letter was a particularly fat one, too. The girls are having kittens over it." She paused, dark eyes steady on his. "Apparently the young girl had a nasty little accident."

"Accident?" Grumman echoed, much more sharply than he'd intended. Those dark eyes bored into him, and he made a concerted effort to collect himself. "Is—are the children all right?"

"No permanent damage. But it's quite an exciting story, I don't want to ruin it for you," she said slowly, taking in every bead of sweat and every twitch of his mustache.

Damn it, she knew. How could she _not_ know?

"Very good of you, my dear," he replied, with _almost_ his usual suavity.

"Tell me, Brigadier General," Chris all but purred. "Does any of this have to do with Tereza?"

Fuck.

Grumman's fingers tightened around his glass.

"How long have you known?" he asked with quiet defeat. Chris took pity on him.

"Since the first letter, or very nearly." He let out a humorless laugh. Of course she had.

"How?" he asked, still staring into his drink. Might as well learn where the weak flank was for future reference.

"As soon as my brat mentioned that a young female relative was living there as well, I realized that she had to be the one you really wanted intel about," Chris admitted.

"I must be slipping," Grumman murmured. "I should have known better than to underestimate you."

"True," she said simply. "But in any event, it struck me that you'd wanted an inside man roughly the same age as the girl all along. Naturally he'd notice her and be likely to talk about her without additional prompting. Otherwise, you'd have gone yourself and made the usual State Alchemist recruitment offer, even knowing it would be refused. Or sent one of the girls with a plausible cover story and let her try to charm the information out of him. But those options wouldn't have suited your purposes half so well, because it was the alchemist's daughter, not the alchemist, that you were interested in."

Grumman nodded but did not speak. No point hiding it now.

"So, I asked myself why," she continued. "And then I ran into an old friend of mine who used to work with the registrar's office in Central. He still has a few useful contacts, and pulling a few marriage and birth records was simple enough."

One thing about Madame, she didn't gloat. Nor was she malicious.

"He'll keep what he learned to himself, Grumman," she added quietly. "He doesn't have any reason to believe that it's sensitive information, but he knows very well that I could destroy him if anything leaks without my consent."

Grumman bit his lip, hard.

As a matter of fact, there were several important men who were very lucky that Chris wasn't the blackmailing type, Grumman thought. She might sell information to the authorities at exorbitant prices, but she never used personal information against a man for monetary gain…she was not the sort of woman to threaten to send incriminating photos to a jealous wife, for example. She considered that kind of extortion beneath her, regardless of what her personal thoughts on the matter might be. And it was this little code of honor of hers that ensured she had plenty of favors at her scarlet-lacquered fingertips.

"I—I knew she'd had a child, but beyond that…" he stopped, annoyed by the thickness of his own voice. Fighting against the thrall of his overwhelming emotion, Grumman tried to breathe in and out slowly, but even Madame could hear that the breath stuttered in his chest.

"Take your time," she said gently. She placed her hand on his forearm for the briefest of moments, letting him know that she understood the reason for his deception, and that she wasn't angry with him.

"I just…needed to be sure that the girl was safe and happy," he began slowly.

"Your granddaughter?"

"Yes. The only family I have left, now."

"You've never met her?"

"No. My daughter and I were not exactly on speaking terms when she had the child. You see, I never liked the man my daughter married, and not just because she went against my wishes when she ran off and eloped with him. Bad enough that he was ten years her senior, but even that I didn't mind so much."

"Nothing wrong with being an alchemist with family money, either," Chris mused, recalling their first conversation about Berthold Hawkeye. "So it was his personality that rubbed you the wrong way?" Grumman raised his glass in a silent, sarcastic salute.

"From the moment we met," he said, and tossed back half his drink in one go. "I could see right off that he was a cold, hard sort of man, and I was afraid that his cool reserve would break Tereza's generous and sunny spirit. She was such a demonstrative girl; very affectionate and warm. Effervescent. But as for _him_...the man was just so damn _stoical_. But Terri was so young, and so headstrong, and she kept insisting that they were in love...In the end, it didn't matter, anyway. It wasn't lack of affection that took my daughter's life."

He swallowed the rest of his drink and took a moment to compose himself. Madame kindly pretended not to notice the tears that he was fighting to blink away.

"Anyway," he said at last. "I knew that she'd had a child before her death, a little girl." And the ghost of a smile graced his thin lips. Chris assumed he was imagining what Riza Hawkeye looked like; whether she resembled her mother in spite of the shorter hair and dark brown eyes her nephew had so carefully described. "And...it occurred to me that I might take the girl from him by force if I wanted to. But first I needed to know more about her and what their home life was like."

"And if she was unhappy, or the financial situation was too bleak..." Chris began.

"Then I'd offer to take her off his hands, so to speak," Grumman nodded. "I still don't know what to do. Hawkeye seems to be the same cold-hearted bastard that he always was. An emotionless machine devoted only to his damn alchemy. Maybe even worse, now, without my Terri to soften his edges."

"And yet the child seems to care for him a great deal," Chris argued gently. "That sort of devotion comes from somewhere, doesn't it? It can't be maintained indefinitely without some spark of affection to keep it alight."

"I know. That's why I'm still so unsure of my next step, Chris. I want to do what's best for my granddaughter."

"I will say this: in spite of his apparent coldness, I believe that her father loves her. And that he wants the best for her, too."

"What proof of that do you have?" he said, somewhat bitterly. Chris shook her head.

"You'll have to read between the lines of my nephew's last letter, old man. Putting that aside for a moment, are you afraid to take the girl in? To raise her as your own?"

"Only afraid that it would do more harm than good. I don't know whether hauling her off to live with a strange old man would be the right choice. Even if her father was willing to give her up and she was willing to come, I'd be uprooting her, forcing her to change her whole lifestyle, thrusting her into a life she's never known…"

"It would be very difficult for her at first, to be sure," Chris said thoughtfully. "She's a very shy and sheltered child, and to be put into a public school, or a boarding school, whatever you like, would be a very great culture shock for her. On the other hand, she doesn't have many friends where she is now, and it might be a good thing to see more of the world rather than stay locked in her ivory tower in the country."

"That's just it though…she's at a delicate age. She doesn't know me, and she'd have no one to confide in about her troubles. She wouldn't be able to hide or retreat. She'd be thrown to the wolves in a city public school like that; exposed and made to perform in ways she never has before…wouldn't that damage her?"

"I don't know. How could we ever be sure?" Chris wondered, pursing her lips a little. Grumman noticed that she'd said "we" and not "you." Did that mean she'd taken an interest in this child's welfare as well?

"I wouldn't even have to have his consent. I could fabricate the proof necessary to declare him an unfit parent; there are several judges who owe me favors…I could have myself appointed her legal guardian by tomorrow if I wanted to," he admitted.

"Would you want to?" Chris countered.

"If my wife were still alive, Chris, it wouldn't even be a question," Grumman sighed. "We'd have had the child the moment her mother had died. But as things are now…"

"You're afraid history will repeat itself, somehow. Or that the girl will resent you for taking her from her father?"

"Yes. I don't know what to do with a girl. Look at what happened to Tereza—I'd destroyed any chance I had at a relationship with my own daughter by the time she was old enough to talk. She couldn't wait to get away from me."

"That's not entirely true, is it, old man?" Chris asked gently. Grumman slumped in his stool and sighed.

"I honestly don't know, some days," he replied softly. Chris studied him for a moment. It was odd, and difficult, too in a way, to see him laid bare like this.

"I wish I had an easy answer for you, my friend," Chris sighed. "But I will tell you this: you need to read those letters, and then you need to come back in a few days to collect the letter my girls are currently holding hostage. And then you can decide for yourself whether Berthold Hawkeye is really the cold-hearted bastard he seems to be on the surface." She rose and poured him a generous measure of the expensive brandy he favored. And then she glided away with a rustle of silk, leaving Grumman staring down at the packet of letters on the glossy surface of her bar.

He was gone, and the letters with him, before she'd made it to the end of the room.

* * *

**A.N. So this chapter kind of surprised me...I was in the middle of writing the chapter I _intended _to post this week, and then this happened instead. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it! And as always, constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. :D**

**Fun fact of the day: I read somewhere that the name Riza, which is a derivative of the Hungarian name Tereza, can mean "guardian" or "hunter" (depending on who you ask). No idea whether this was REALLY what Arakawa-sensei intended, but I liked the idea, and so I chose to use it for Riza's mum's name, since she isn't given one in the canon (that I know of, someone please correct me if I am mistaken!)**

**xoxo Janie**


	15. Twelfth Entry

**June 7**

* * *

For nearly a week after Miss Riza's injury, Roy did everything in his power to ensure that she didn't put any weight on her damaged ankle. He helped her limp carefully up and down the stairs in the mornings and evenings and checked in on her throughout the day, between bouts of studying. He fetched books and tea and sandwiches and extra pillows as the occasion demanded, making sure that everything she could possibly need was at her fingertips. He even followed her careful instructions regarding meals, chopping and stirring and sweating over simmering saucepans while Miss Riza fidgeted anxiously on the couch in the parlor and fretted over her confinement.

Roy could sense her growing restlessness as the days went on, and knew without her having to say so that she was starting to feel like a prisoner in her own home. So on the eighth morning, when he came to escort her down the stairs, he was unsurprised to find her bedroom vacant.

Naturally, she was in the kitchen, the only concession to her recent injuries being that she was seated at the table rather than puttering about the stove. She smiled shyly at him when he walked in.

"Hey, there. How are you feeling?" he greeted her cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mr. Mustang. I'm much better, thank you." She nodded in the direction of the stovetop. "I just made hot cocoa, if you want any."

"Oh, great, thanks," he said, moving across to the stove to help himself. "I thought you weren't supposed to be worrying about chores for at least the next few days, Miss Hawkeye?" he said over his shoulder, frowning slightly. She squirmed a little.

"I couldn't stand another day lying on the couch or stuck up in my room," she confessed. "But I was really careful coming down the stairs! And my ankle hardly even hurts today." Roy just smiled as he sat down opposite her with a steaming mug in hand.

"Well that's something, anyway. The doc said it would be good as new in a couple weeks, so it looks like you're well on the way."

"You're up rather early again," she noticed. "Weren't you and Papa both up late last night?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But I know today's your usual market day, and I was hoping to catch you before you tried to hobble into town." Her eyes widened. "Ah-ha, I knew it!" he said smugly. "You _were_ planning to go, weren't you?"

"No-o," she lied unconvincingly. When he just raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, she huffed a little. "Oh, all right. I _was_ thinking about it. But if I don't, there won't be anything to make for supper, so I don't see a way around it."

"Well, I could go for you," Roy said. She blinked. Amused as he was to realize that she'd never even considered the possibility, it also stung a little. "Aw come on! I'm perfectly capable of picking up ingredients!" He protested. "You can even write me out a list so I don't forget anything."

"Well...that really would be helpful," she admitted. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I did," he shrugged. "Would it make you feel better if I said I had a letter to mail and was going anyway?" Never mind that he'd waited two extra days to send his usual letter, just in case.

"All right, then. If you're sure," she said carefully. "Will you hand me a pen, please?"

* * *

Well **that** hadn't gone as planned, Roy thought. He dragged himself to his feet, still wheezing, and tried to stifle a moan. The detritus of the shopping was scattered all around him. Probing his split lip with his tongue as he surveyed the damage, he fervently hoped he had enough money left from his allowance to cover replacements. Ugh, what a mess.

The meat was perfectly all right, tightly wrapped up in waxed brown paper as it was. But the bottle of milk was a loss, and all but three of the eggs were ground into mud on the road. The apples, a delicate shade of green under the liberal coat of dirt and smashed egg goop, might be a bit bruised, but he figured they'd wash up all right. And only about half of the flour had been spilled.

It could've been worse, Roy thought as he bent down to fetch the last stray apple from the little ditch along the side of the road. His bruised ribs screamed in protest, but he clenched his jaw resolutely and straightened back up. Fortunately, the letter he'd gotten in response from the girls was safely tucked into an inside pocket of his jacket, so they hadn't been able to do anything to _that_. That was something, at least. He sighed.

_I probably shouldn't have provoked them_, he thought ruefully. But the moment they'd stopped him he'd known that the meeting wouldn't end well. Maybe they'd have spared the groceries if he'd kept his unruly mouth shut, but he just hadn't been able to resist getting a verbal shot in here and there, and so…well. Mortifying as it was, he'd have to turn around and go right back to town, and back into all the same shops, barely an hour after he'd been there. But he might as well drop off the surviving things first, since he was nearly home anyway.

Miss Hawkeye looked up when the back door opened, the smile of greeting on her face melting into a round 'o' of shock as she took in his bedraggled state.

"Oh! What happened?" she gasped, as if it wasn't fairly obvious.

"Your neighbors are jerks," was all Roy said. He tried to smile as he said it, but sucked in a sharp breath when the movement made his spilt lip crack open again. Quickly drying her wet, soapy hands on her apron, Riza took the remains of the groceries from him, dumping them impatiently on the counter. Roy dropped heavily into his usual chair with a wince while Miss Hawkeye busied herself with a clean dish cloth and the cold water at the sink.

"Here," she said softly, bending over him. He accepted the cloth gratefully and began to gingerly dab the dried blood off his face.

"Do I have a black eye, yet?" he said, trying for a light tone. Her serious brown eyes flicked over him, assessing the damage.

"Mm, not yet, but you will. It takes a day or so to turn nasty colors," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Huh, really?" Wait, how did she know that?

"Um-hm. Just like all bruises do. But it won't be as bad if you put something cold on it now," she said, moving toward the icebox.

She sounded like she was speaking from experience. Roy started to frown, but that only hurt his lip, so he settled for watching her as she rifled through the icebox in search of something suitable. Finally she chose a hunk of beef steak, which she carefully wrapped in another thin, clean dish cloth.

"Here, this should help," she said, offering it to him.

"Thanks. Oww," he hissed, as the cold beef hit his sore eye. "That short blonde guy is a lot stronger than he looks."

"You must mean Thomas. Yes, he is. I should have warned you about him, and his friends, but..."

"You didn't think I'd be here long enough for it to matter?" he supplied. She smiled a little.

"Well, yes. But also because they don't generally come out this direction. They're afraid of Papa."

"Yeah, that makes sense," he mumbled. Her eyes snapped to his.

"What do you mean?" she said, a little sharply. Roy flushed.

"Nothing, really. I just...got that impression." She said nothing for several moments, her eyes darting between his as though she could read the answers there.

"Will you tell me what happened?" she asked softly after a moment. Roy sighed.

"I was about a mile from home when I ran into them…" he began.

* * *

_"Oi, new kid!" snapped a rough voice. I looked up, mildly surprised, as three burly looking boys materialized on the path around me._

_"Hi," I said, a little warily. These guys looked a few years older than me, and were quite a bit larger. And the short blonde one who seemed to be the leader did not have a very friendly look on his face._

_"What's your name, pretty boy?" he said sneeringly. I fought the impulse to roll my eyes. Starting off with a mild insult, so I'd know my place in the pecking order, was a childish move at best. This encounter was probably not going to go well._

_"Roy Mustang. Nice to meet you," I said, shifting my bag of groceries to one arm and offering a hand. The other boy just glared back at me. At least I was trying to be civil. He dropped the pretense right then and there._

_"So you're the one who's been toying with my little sister?" he snarled, blue eyes narrowed to slits._

_"What? Toying with—I don't even know your sister," I protested, confused. "I've only been here for a few weeks, I barely know anyone—"_

_"Shut the hell up!" the second boy snapped. Another blue eyed blonde, taller and broader than the other. If possible, guy number two looked even angrier than the girl's brother. I thought I was beginning to understand the problem._

_"Look, there seems to be some kind of mistake, here," I said, in what I hoped was a placating tone. _

_"Don't you even try lyin' to us, city boy," spat boy number two. "I __**saw**__ you talking to Sarah!" The third one put his hand on number two's shoulder, as though to calm him down. But he just shrugged it off impatiently._

_"I'm sure I talked to a bunch of people today, but I certainly haven't been __**toying**__ with any of them," I said. Which girl could they possibly mean? I'd talked with...all right, flirted with, several older women in town today while in the market and the post office, but I couldn't think of a single one among them that was close enough to my own age to qualify as guy number one's sister._

_The third boy, a green eyed brunet, seemed to be the most rational of the three. Shaking his head at the other two in a warning sort of way, he took over their half of the conversation._

_"Look, kid, Rick here saw you with her at the post office today," he explained. "And she told Tom," who was presumably the older brother, "that she's talked to you a few times before."_

_I was beginning to lose my patience._

_"I already told you that I hardly know anyone here. The only woman I speak to on a regular basis is Mrs. White, and since I very much doubt that **she's** your little sister, I really have no idea what you're talking about."_

_Mrs. White was the plump postmistress in her fifties that I often chatted with when dropping off or picking up my letters. The brunet was making a face like he was trying not to laugh. The other two boys, Tom and Rick, did not look so amused._

_"You think you're so clever, city boy?" Tom growled. "Just because you're some big shot alchemy student?"_

_"I don't just think I'm clever, I know so," I retorted, unable to resist. "Alchemy sure as hell isn't easy, or else everyone would do it." The enraged expressions on their faces told me I'd better shut up, but I didn't care. "Now if you don't mind…" and I tried to keep walking. As one, they moved to block me._

_"Oh but we do mind, don't we, guys?" Rick said, looming closer._

_"I don't care how damn smart you think you are, you still got no right to be messing with my little sister, you little sonofa—" Tom snarled._

_"All right, look," I interrupted him. "I __**still**__ don't know what any of you are going on about. I'm sure that I'd remember talking to a pretty girl in town, and I don't, so I haven't. Okay?" _

_I knew I'd made a mistake when Tom clenched his fists and turned beet red._

_"You saying my sister ain't pretty enough for you?" he roared._

_"That's not what I—" I started to say. But Tom moved a lot faster than I expected, and he cuffed me upside the head, hard, before I'd even finished the thought._

_"Oi, Tom," the brunet spoke up as I staggered. "Look out. What if someone sees us?" he said, looking around a little anxiously._

_"Shut up, Harry," Tom and Rick both hissed. _

_There was a scuffle, which was shorter than I'd like to admit (though I did get in a few punches before Tom maneuvered behind me and pinned my arms back). I don't know exactly when I'd dropped the groceries, but they were still mostly undamaged at that point, just spilled at our feet. And then I opened my mouth again._

_"Afraid to risk a fair fight, huh?" I wheezed._

_"Let's see how pretty that face is when I'm through with you," Rick snarled savagely. His left hook left me seeing stars. Unfortunately, it didn't stop my mouth from moving._

_"Doesn't matter what you do to my face; still won't improve yours any," I said. "No wonder your girlfriend has wandering eyes—have you ever looked in a mirror, pal?" Harry was looking at me in horror, but he made no move to stop Rick, who bellowed with rage and lunged. Tom, who had still been holding my arms, jumped aside instinctively and tripped over the spilled groceries lying there, tearing the bag wide open._

_ I started to duck, but Rick slammed into me like a speeding truck, tackling me to the ground with a heavy thud. And then we were rolling on the ground and pounding every inch of each other we could reach while we fought for the upper hand. Tom finally leaped in and dragged me off Rick with a whispered curse. He sort of threw me to one side, and I lay there panting and curled in on myself, while Rick struggled to his feet. _

_Tom kicked me viciously in the stomach and back a few times for good measure. Rick took out his rage on the food, which had been scattered a bit by our little wrestling match, stomping and kicking viciously as though picturing my face on each and every crumb. Harry seemed content to stand guard, and though he didn't add to the damage being inflicted, he still made no move to stop the others._

_"We should go before __**he**__ sees us," he finally said, looking in the direction of sensei's house._

_"Fine," Tom said with one last kick. We're done here anyways. Rick?" Rick took two long strides to me, grabbed a handful of my hair and wrenched my head close to his._

_"Think of that as a warning, pretty boy," Rick growled in my ear. I was more than a little pissed to discover that he looked none the worse for our little scuffle. Meanwhile, I could feel blood running down my nose and lip._

_"Stay the fuck away from Sarah or next time you won't get off so lightly," Tom added. Rick let go of me and I collapsed into the dirt. Then there was the sound of three pairs of feet running off along the road, distant laughing and whooping, and then nothing. I lay still for a few more minutes, catching my breath and waiting for the pounding in my ears to subside._

_And wondered how in the world I was going to explain this to the girls._

* * *

After Roy finished, Riza just stared at him. And then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

"Was this your first fist fight, Mr. Mustang?" He heard an undercurrent of amusement in her tone. It was new, for her, and he found that he rather liked it.

"Ha, no, not exactly," he said. "But it is my first time fighting over a girl. I just wish I knew who I'm supposed to have seduced," he continued ruefully.

"I can't believe you made a move on Sarah Granger, and you don't even remember," Riza said, shaking her head. Roy snorted.

"She the town beauty or something?"

"You could say that. She's your age; works part-time at the post office. Um…average height, slim, curly brown hair and dark brown eyes…any of this sound familiar?"

"Crap," Roy said softly as realization hit him. "She's the quiet little clerk at the post office, isn't she?" Riza nodded. Roy groaned. "I've hardly said two words to her! Just 'hello,' and 'thanks,' after she gave me my letter today!" Riza was trying hard not to laugh, which Roy appreciated. "I dunno, maybe I smiled at her or something, but I swear that's all! How was I supposed to know the girl would construct some kind of romantic fantasy out of that—and then tell her brother about me, for heaven's sake?"

"He's probably just been waiting for an excuse," Riza said thoughtfully.

"What, to pound on me?"

"No, more like…the opportunity to put you in your place, I guess," she replied. "You're the new kid in town. You're studying alchemy with my father, which means that you're smart, brave and probably come from money," Roy opened his mouth to protest but Riza just shook her head. "To them. Don't think I don't know how they look at my father. He really should charge our neighbors more for his services, but he doesn't, and so they seem to think his rates for personal tutelage are astronomical because it's befitting of his station."

"I mean, his fees aren't exactly cheap, but yeah, I see your point," he conceded. "Sorry, go on?"

"It's just that—you're different," she explained. "You aren't from around here. People notice."

"I think I see where you're going with this," he said. "You mean I'm a novelty."

"Well…yes and no. You're someone new, and that automatically makes you interesting. But you're also polite and charming, and you talk and dress differently than the farmers and shopkeepers in town. And being an alchemy apprentice gives you a sort of prestige, too."

Roy was a little disappointed to note that Miss Riza said all of these things without a trace of discomfiture, meaning that she didn't intend to pay him any compliments. On the contrary, she spoke with the same quiet confidence she'd had when giving him cooking tips the day before. She was simply giving him her honest opinion of how other people viewed him. While he would have been better pleased if she'd blushed or stammered or shown some other sort of consciousness when describing him as "interesting," "polite and charming," Roy decided he was just happy that she was talking to him so openly these days.

"Big fish in a small pond?" he joked, smiling.

"Right. You draw attention wherever you go without even trying."

"Which draws attention away from them," he said, nodding. "Attention that they're used to being the center of."

"Mmhm. You're threatening their 'status.'"

"Geez," Roy sighed. "It's all so childish."

"I agree. But then, they are great big children," she smiled. "Honestly, I doubt Sarah ever said anything other than that she'd seen you today," Riza added. "But Rick is sweet on her, which everyone in town knows except for her. And her brother has always been way too protective of his little sisters. I don't think Harry would be so bad if he didn't hang around the other two so much. Or if he just stood up to them once in a while."

"Yeah, he was the only one who didn't hit me. Didn't stop the other two, mind you, but at least he didn't get in a cheap shot while I was down. Ouch," he mumbled, and gingerly felt his lip again.

"You ought to put something on your lip, too," Riza said, untying her apron and draping it over her chair. "I think I have some antiseptic salve in my bathroom cabinet, I'll bring it down for you later."

"Yeah, thanks…" he said absently, running a hand through his hair. Riza limped carefully over to the counter and began thoughtfully turning over the damaged groceries, assessing them as Roy had earlier.

"Well, we can make do with this for the time being," she murmured. "This amount of flour will be just enough for the dumplings if I add a bit of cornmeal to them, and I can make baked apples instead of an apple pie for dessert…Rather difficult to make dumplings without milk, though, so it's a good thing we still have a bit left over from last week..."she trailed off, still doing mental calculations.

"I'll replace the damaged stuff, Miss Hawkeye," Roy said, removing the steak from his eye and starting to stand. "Just let me run upstairs and get my allowance and I'll go right now—"

"Please don't," she interrupted. "You aren't responsible for the cost of replacements. What happened wasn't even your fault. And we have enough to get by on for the next few days; you don't need to make a special trip."

"But—" he started to protest.

"Please don't go, Mr. Mustang," she said again with such a pleading expression that Roy couldn't help but give in.

"Well…if you insist," he said, allowing her to push him gently back into his chair. "But I'm coming with you next time you go," Roy said firmly. The corners of Riza's mouth twitched, and her eyes sparkled, but she said nothing. "What?" he asked, intrigued by the look on her face.

"I didn't say anything," she replied, eyebrows raised, slight surprise replacing the fleeting expression that had captured Roy's attention.

"No, but you wanted to, I can tell. Come on, out with it," he prompted. "I can take it. Let me guess—you were thinking you can't send a boy to do a man's job, right?" And there it was again, a sarcastic little smirk and the light of laughter in her dark eyes.

"Well..." she said, a little tentatively, "I was _going_ to say that I'll probably be safer going alone, if the Terrible Trio has it out for you." The teasing lilt to her tone combined with that look in her eye was simply enchanting.

"Low blow!" Roy cried, and melodramatically clutched his chest as though physically struck. "Right in my ego!" Riza giggled, and Roy beamed back at her. Growing suddenly bold, she nodded decisively.

"All right. We'll go together next week," she said.

"Oh, so I'm allowed to come now?" Roy asked, still grinning. "Even though I'm a marked man and all?" What she said next both surprised and thrilled him.

"Don't worry—I'll protect you," she answered, in a voice warm with amusement. Though he didn't know it yet, it wasn't the last time she'd say such a thing.

* * *

**A.N. A little Roy whumpage for you, just to make things even after knocking poor Riza about in recent weeks :) I really must have a sadistic streak; hurting the characters is rather a recurring theme of mine...though I suppose it IS a trope for a reason. Anyway, thanks for the reviews/follows/favorites, folks! **

**xoxo Janie**


	16. The Girls Weigh In--Again

**June 21**

* * *

_"Dearest darling Roy,_

_My poor precious boy, what on earth possessed you to flirt with some mousy little mail clerk in the first place? (Incidentally, the girls and I took a vote, and it was unanimous- we will not accept some countrified upstart as a sister-in-law. We insist upon the gentle, sweet and intelligent Miss Hawkeye and we will brook no disagreements)._

_Now, as for the fight you got yourself into: Violet has offered to show you how to go about dodging punches for the next time, and Veronica thinks you'd better take lessons in hand-to-hand combat with her father whenever you're in town next. Our sweet Lucy says perhaps you ought to have tried to reason with those older boys rather than letting your temper get the best of you, and Ada heartily agrees, but they both insist I add that they know you were provoked and outnumbered and are very sorry you were hurt. And we __**all**__ send you our warmest love and sympathy, little brother._

_How are the bruised ribs healing up? And what did your teacher say when he saw your face? You didn't mention how you were planning to explain the fight to him; I hope he wasn't upset with you over it. Juliet's been trying to find a way to send you a sheet cake by mail as an "I'm sorry you got punched in the face" present, but in the meantime she hopes you enjoy the peanut brittle. Claire advises you to share with Miss Riza—there must be at least three pounds of it in this great big box, and I've no idea what they will say at the post office when I try to mail it. At least it travels better than a cake would!_

_Also, Sophie has enclosed the book you requested a few weeks ago. She spent a lot of time searching for a suitable beginners guide about caring for roses, and she was very anxious that it should be practical and informative without being too pedantic. So do please let us know whether Miss Riza likes it, won't you? And of course, we are all very glad to hear about Miss Riza's rapid recovery. Did you ever learn what she was doing up in that tree, by the way?_

* * *

Roy did end up sharing the peanut brittle with both Riza and her father, who had a fondness for the confection that surprised even Miss Riza.

Both children had agreed not to mention the fight to Master Hawkeye unless asked, as they were unsure whether he'd be upset with Roy for fighting in spite of the extenuating circumstances. If Berthold noticed Roy's black eye beneath the layer of cosmetics that Miss Riza had helped him apply to hide it, he never mentioned it, nor did he comment on the blatant spilt in Roy's lip that the children had been unable to conceal. However, Roy was certain that he was the object of his teacher's intense gaze more often than usual.

And naturally enough, it became routine for the two teenagers to walk together to the market and the post office each week. Riza had flatly refused Roy's many attempts to reimburse her for the groceries, insisting that it hadn't been his fault and that he was not responsible. He had the feeling that she was planning something, although he didn't fully understand what it was until they ran into the Terrible Trio (as Riza had christened them) about two weeks after the original incident.

The three boys hesitated when they saw Miss Hawkeye walking beside the "city boy," but then came on anyway, strutting and preening as they approached the pair.

"Hey there, pretty boy," sneered Rick, who was the taller of the two blond boys. "So you brought along a girl to hide behind, this time?"

"Aw, the little townie can't handle walking all by his lonesome without backup!" scorned Tom, who was shorter and stockier than the other two.

"What a momma's boy," Harry laughed, tossing his longish brown hair out of his eyes in a way that he probably thought made him look cool.

Roy clenched his fists and said nothing. Before he started swinging, he had Miss Hawkeye to consider. Would these guys go after a girl in the first place? If Roy told her to, would she run for it? Would these jerks try to chase her if she did? Could he hold them off long enough for her to get back home? He shifted his weight uneasily, calculating.

"I suggest you hold your tongue and mind your own business, Thomas Granger," a cool, serene voice said suddenly. All four boys looked at each other, equally startled to realize that the voice had come from Miss Hawkeye.

"Oh yeah?" rejoined the short blond. "And just what are you going to do about it, princess?" But the one called Harry immediately looked nervous.

"Hey, cut it out man, she's just a kid," he hissed at his friend, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

"Yeah, so? She shouldn't get in our way, then, should she?"

"You should watch that smart mouth, little one," Rick drawled. "We don't want to have to teach you a lesson, too."

"Maybe we do," Tom interjected. "And you still haven't answered me, doll face. What do you think you're going to do about it?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?" she retorted, sharply. "But I might remind you that my father is a very busy man. He isn't able to process every request that comes to him." A smile spread slowly across Roy's lips as he realized what she was planning.

"What's she talking about?" Rick demanded, looking puzzled. The other two boys swiftly became very uncomfortable.

"Are you going to explain it to Mr. Shepherd, or shall I?" Riza asked them innocently.

"Oh, come on, Miss Riza," Harry said weakly. "We was only teasing the city kid, here. We didn't mean _you_ no harm."

"Is that so?" she said coolly. "That's not how I see it."

"Aw, these little townies never stick around, Miss Hawkeye, why d'you even care about this one?" Tom added, abruptly switching to a more formal address.

"It doesn't matter what I think," she said quietly. "But my father happens to be quite fond of Mr. Mustang. He was seriously displeased to find that he'd been set upon."

"He was also pretty disappointed when there was no apple pie after supper," Roy added in a grumbly undertone, glaring at the three older boys.

"Exactly," agreed Riza with a nod. "You are all extremely lucky that Mr. Mustang isn't a tattle tale. He wouldn't tell my father who hit him, or why, or what happened to the groceries he was sent to get."

"And...and YOU won't tell him, will you, Miss Riza? Come on now, we was just playing with him, last time. Rough housing, like. We just got a little carried away, right guys?" Harry said, turning desperately to his comrades.

"What are you all going on about?" Rick asked again, brow furrowed in confusion. But Thomas grabbed at his arm.

"Shut it!" he hissed, and then turned to Roy. "Look, man, we didn't mean anything by it. We're sorry, okay? It won't happen again. Bygones and all that, yeah?"

"You know, I wouldn't mind an honest fight, one on one. But I don't appreciate being falsely accused and then ganged up on," he said, looking from one to the other. "Next time you feel like coming at me, say so to my face and we'll have a fair fight. Clear?"

"Sure, sure, whatever you say. No hard feelings?" Harry asked, urgently.

"Yeah, fine," Roy replied.

"Hey come on, let's go," Tom said to his companions. Harry hesitated.

"And um, we're real sorry about the apples and the milk, Miss Hawkeye. I—I'll bring you new ones tomorrow, yeah?"

"Thank you, Mr. Crofter; that would be very kind of you."

"Don't forget the eggs and the flour," Roy piped up.

"Yeah, course not, sure. Come on!" And Harry and Tom dragged their confused comrade away. Roy waited until they were out of earshot before turning to Miss Hawkeye.

"That was brilliant!" he cried, delighted. To his surprise, Riza was shaking like a leaf. Had she been that frightened? "Hey, you okay?"

Riza looked up at Roy with sparkling eyes, and he realized that she was shaking with silent laughter and not fright at all.

"I am now," she said happily. "I've never tried anything like that before. I didn't know if it would work."

"It was a fantastic idea," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "So what was it that sensei's supposed to do for him?"

"A tractor repair, I think," she replied, allowing his arm to stay where it was without appearing to notice. "Or it might have been a rototiller. Some sort of expensive machinery that would cost the Crofters their life savings to repair, anyway."

"I'm probably supposed to feel all emasculated for letting a girl defend me, but really I'm just grateful. And impressed!" He squeezed her shoulders in innocent affection before letting his arm drop.

"I thought about talking to Mrs. Granger directly, since Tom really started it, but I wasn't sure she'd take me seriously…and this worked much better," she agreed, smiling. "Just try not to hit on anyone else's girlfriend, okay Mr. Mustang? I can't guarantee any more of them will be asking favors from Papa."

Roy just laughed.

* * *

**A.N. I just couldn't resist bringing Chris's girls back :D And as promised, the list of fictional characters upon which I have based them is as follows:**

**Ada: Miss Ada Clare from ****Bleak House,**** by Charles Dickens. ****Juliet: Juliet O'Hara, from the American television show "Psych." ****Sophie: Sophie Pendragon (nee Hatter) from ****Howl's Moving Castle,**** by Diane Wynne Jones. ****Elinor: Miss Elinor Dashwood from ****Sense and Sensibility,**** by Jane Austen. ****Veronica: Veronica Mars from the American television show of the same name. ****Lucy: Lucy Pevensie from T****he Chronicles of Narnia,**** by C.S. Lewis. ****Violet: Violet Hunter from "The Copper Beeches," one of the many delightful Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. ****Claire: And this was the extra, based on no one but my own self, using a name I've always rather liked.**

**Mad props to SweetDeath04 for guessing all of the names correctly! (Eventually! ;D) **

**And as always, thank you all for the reviews, follows and favorites. Your encouragement means the world to me.**

**xoxo Janie**


	17. Lucky Thirteenth

**July 6**

* * *

_"Dear Aunt Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet, _

_I hope you girls aren't cross with me for not having written as often as before. I feel like the first few weeks of summer have flown by, and Hawkeye-sensei has really been pushing me to my limits with the alchemy lessons. I'm allowed to transmute things now, although we are starting very small—only things that are smaller than six square inches, at this point. (Auntie, I promise I will make you a much prettier necklace as soon as I get the proper materials!) _

_Aside from the increase in my workload, it has been hotter than blazes around here the past several days, so any spare time I've had has been spent lying low indoors and trying not to move any more than absolutely necessary. Sensei doesn't seem to notice the heat, but Miss Riza and I have taken to eating our dinners on the porch where there is a breeze in the evening, rather than sit in the stuffy heat of the kitchen. She says August will be even worse, but at least there are thunderstorms to look forward to. And speaking of Miss Riza, I finally figured out something that has been bothering me. I wonder whether you girls had already guessed?"_

* * *

"Oh," Roy murmured, with a soft exhalation full of admiration and wonder. "Wow."

This was possibly the most beautiful place he'd found so far in his wanderings. Tilting his head back, he caught sight of bits of the bright blue sky between the gaps in the leaves and branches of the tall oak trees overhead. Soft, silky grass spread out all around his feet, from the little dirt path on which he stood to the banks of a small creek at the farther side of the clearing. Clumps of wildflowers dotted the grass, filling the air with a sweet but subtle fragrance that Roy inhaled eagerly. A light breeze whispered and shushed its way through the leaves, and slender shafts of sunlight lit the whole clearing with a soft, golden glow.

What better place to escape the stifling heat? The house was dull anyway, since Miss Riza had pulled one of her disappearing acts and left Roy with no one to talk to. He'd headed into the cool forest hoping to pass the afternoon in the pleasant dappled shade rather than sprawled listlessly in front of the radio. It was way too hot to concentrate on his pleasure reading, much less study his lessons, and there wasn't much else to do indoors all by himself.

But this would do nicely. Roy cast about for a sturdy tree to sit back against. And then he changed his mind and headed for the creek instead. It wasn't deep enough to swim in, but he toed off his shoes and socks and rolled his pant legs up to his knees. The water was clear and cold and the soft, muddy bottom squelched pleasantly between his toes.

After wading downstream for a bit, Roy found a mossy bit of mostly dry bank to sit on and let his feet dangle in the water while he listened to the babble of water over stones and the humming of insects. His sleepy eyes followed a pair of sparrows that darted amongst the branches above him, and he wondered whether this little creek was a favorite spot of Miss Riza's. It seemed like something she'd appreciate. Quiet, peaceful and gentle, just like her. And if he was perfectly honest with himself, he'd really been hoping to find her somewhere in the woods as well, once he'd realized that she was not in the house. Where was she, anyway? And why hadn't she wanted him to come wherever she'd gone?

Somewhat petulantly, Roy worked a small stone loose from the mud of the bank and tossed it into the creek, where it made a satisfyingly heavy plunk. As he leaned forward to toss another, a golden sparkle caught his eye.

"Hello, what's that?" he said to himself. There, on the father side of the bank, something winked brightly at him from a particularly fluffy tuft of grass. Carefully Roy waded across and scrambled up on the opposite shore to get a better look. It was a necklace. Roy turned his find over and over in his hands.

It was a heavy, old fashioned locket on a thick chain. It wasn't at all tarnished, which meant it hadn't been lying there long. And to judge from the highly polished surface, whoever had dropped it must care for it a great deal. All the way out here though…surely it belonged to Miss Hawkeye? Well, might as well ask her, anyway. If he could find her, that is.

And thinking of Miss Hawkeye…Roy slowly settled back down in the soft grass, rubbing a thumb absently over the engraved surface of the locket.

Riza's recent behavior toward Roy had undergone such a significant change from what it'd been when they'd first met—she was almost a completely different girl. Not that he was complaining, of course. He _liked_ the Riza that gently teased him and let him carry all the heavy items back from market each week and listened to the radio programs with him in the evenings when neither of them had studying to do—he felt that they really were becoming friends.

But as his 'sisters' had noted, Roy was no fool. All of those little things he'd noticed about her before, the mistrust and the self-deprecating comments and the avoidance…he hadn't forgotten any of those. So the question remained—why _had_ she acted so cold to him in the beginning? As glad as he was that she'd changed her mind about him, what had made such a kind and gentle girl so distant and wary in the first place? A cute, sweet girl like her shouldn't have any reason to be fearful of strangers.

And then it hit him: maybe _that_ was the reason behind his teacher's original warning; maybe some of his previous students had been a bit _too_ appreciative of the "cute, sweet girl" sharing their living space.

Riza was awfully young to be drawing that sort of attention, but then, there were an awful lot of creeps in the world. After all, age hadn't stopped Violet's former employer from shoving her up against the wall and putting his hands up her dress when she'd been a fourteen year old housemaid who looked even younger. She'd been fortunate in that she'd remembered her nails and teeth, and that sinking them into the flesh of her attacker had so shocked the man that he'd let her loose. She'd been even more fortunate to be found, a miserable quivering mess of tears and terror, on Chris's doorstep hours later, where she'd dropped in exhaustion after running far enough and hard enough that she'd lost herself entirely. She'd been working for Madame ever since.

Supposing something similar had happened to Riza? It would certainly explain her trust issues. Of course she'd be skittish around men for a while afterward…but that explanation didn't feel quite right. She'd been unsure of Roy, yes, and even made sure to keep out of his way at first. But she didn't have the same _awareness_ of him that Violet had had of men in those first months after her attack, or that hunted look in her eyes…Roy knew he was missing something still. He wondered whether his aunt had already figured it out—it _was_ her business to know things, after all. Though he was willing to bet she wouldn't tell him if he asked. She'd want him to figure it out on his own.

Had someone hurt her, then? She seemed to know an awful lot about bruises and how quickly they healed, and how to hide them with her mother's old makeup. And them there was Doctor James…had his familiarity with her been more than the ordinary family-doctor-in-a-small-town knowledge? Had he treated her for other injuries, ones that weren't accidental? If so, then who'd inflicted them? Riza hadn't acted frightened of the older boys who'd blacked _his_ eye, so it wasn't likely that any of them had anything to do with it. But supposing one of her father's students had laid hands on her? After all, Roy had been warned away from her within his first hour spent under Berthold Hawkeye's roof. But then, surely her father wouldn't _allow_ anyone to hurt her deliberately. Maybe he was way off base, here. But he had no doubt that something had happened to her.

* * *

Roy sat mulling over this question until the sunlight in the trees turned a rich shade of orange-gold. And still, the only thing he was sure of was that she'd been picked on at some point, for some unknown reason. Gathering his shoes and socks, he slowly made his way home lightly swinging the locket on its chain.

As he threw open the back door, Roy nearly ran headlong into Riza. She avoided him neatly with a little skip backwards.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to run you over," he apologized with a cheerful laugh. And then, seeing Riza's pale and drawn face more clearly, he added: "Hey, you okay?"

"No, I'm fine, I just—" she cut herself off suddenly and froze with her eyes riveted on his hands. "What is that?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"Oh," Roy said, holding up the locket so she could see it better. He'd half forgotten about it already. "Is this yours? I thought it might be." Her hand flew to her throat, and the remaining color drained from her face.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, it is."

"Didn't you notice it was missing?" he asked, puzzled. Why was she looking at him like that?

"I'd only just realized," she said, with one hand still at her throat as though she distrusted the evidence of her own eyes. "I was just going back out to look for it."

"It's-it's really pretty," Roy said carefully, trying to understand her reaction. Why fear? And why fear directed at him? Hadn't they gotten past this already? "Was it your mom's?"

"Yes. Please, give it back," she burst out desperately, taking a step closer. "I'll do whatever you want, just please!" she begged.

"You'll—**_what_**?!" Roy cried, realization dawning. "I'm not...Miss Hawkeye, I'm not threatening you! I'm not—" he broke off and thrust the necklace at her as though it had burned his hand.

Riza darted forward and snatched it from his loose grip, clutching it protectively against her chest with both hands and never taking those wide, terrified eyes off of him. And suddenly the injustice of it was too much for Roy to bear.

"I found it in the woods today; I assumed it was yours so I brought it back with me. I didn't _steal_ it, if that's what you're thinking," he said hotly. "And honestly? I can't believe you think I'd do such a thing! What do you take me for?!" he added.

Angry and flustered and more than a little hurt, Roy had no idea what sort of expression was on his face. But he noticed Riza's flinch, and he saw her hands starting to shake. And immediately, he was ashamed of himself. Not only was Miss Hawkeye younger than him, and a girl, but she was frightened. And yelling at someone who was already scared would not solve anything, regardless of the provocation he might have had.

"Hey," he said, a little gruff still, but without the heat this time. "I didn't mean to yell at you, I'm sorry..." He ran a hand through his hair, at a loss. What in the bloody hell was he supposed to do about this girl?

"N-no," Riza managed to choke out. Though still trembling violently, she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...implied you'd taken it on purpose. It's just...It's just that—" and to his horror, tears welled up in her eyes.

"Oh god," Roy said, full of remorse. "Please don't cry! What can I do? Do you want me get you a handkerchief? Or make tea? Or just leave you alone and go away to my room? Please, just tell me what you need me to do," he pleaded with her, growing frantic.

Riza shook her head, and took several deep breaths, in a clear struggle to regain control. She sank into the closest kitchen chair, swiping at her eyes with impatience. Warily, Roy drew out another chair and settled beside her, careful not to sit too close.

He longed to stroke a hand over hers, or to place an arm around her thin shoulders, something—he'd grown up petted and fawned over, and it had made him very tactile in his affection. But he simply curled his fingers into his palms, knowing that he'd only make things worse if he tried to touch her now. They'd probably misunderstood each other enough for one day.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, ashamed of her weakness.

"I'd say forget it, but...what the hell just happened?" he said, a crease in his brow. A tiny, slightly hysterical giggle escaped her lips, and gave him courage to continue. It was time to stop pussyfooting around her trust issues. "Ok look, I think we need to talk about this," he said firmly. "Someone's obviously treated you pretty horribly for you to react like that. Was it another student?" She nodded.

"Not just the one," she confessed. "There have been a few who...teased me."

"Uh, seems to me like there was more than just teasing going on," he insisted, thinking of the various bullies he'd come across in school. "Did they take your stuff? Hit you? Like that?" She nodded again.

"Sometimes they'd follow me," she admitted. "On my way to town. There aren't usually a lot of people on the road, so..." she sniffled and trailed off, reluctant to actually say: _so they could do whatever they wanted and there was no one to help me_. She didn't have to.

"Those little bastards," Roy hissed, clenching his fists. "Did they hurt you?"

"Some of them, yes." He hated knowing that he'd been right.

"What possible reason did they have to pick on you?" he burst out. "What the _hell_ is wrong with people?!" She lifted her eyes at that, and appeared to be gauging the sincerity of his anger with those soft, wary eyes.

"They thought they could convince me to do things for them which I wasn't willing to do," she explained steadily. "Apparently pain is an excellent motivator."

"What?! They **_what_**?!" God, she's just a _kid_! Passionate anger flooded his chest, competing with the horrified realization that his earlier guesses had been so close to the truth. It was one thing to wonder in the abstract sense whether something bad had happened to her, but to actually hear her say the words in that soft, sweet voice of hers...Roy felt physically ill.

"It's no secret that the military wants my father to join the State Alchemist program," Riza continued, calmer now but still shivering a little. "Everyone knows that he's been researching elemental alchemy. Flame alchemy. And every student that he's taken in hopes that he'll choose to reveal the secrets of his research to them."

"Wait…" Roy said softly. What did that have to do with anything? Could she mean—?

"I don't even _know_ alchemy," she spat, bitterly. "And even if I did, I'm no traitor."

"You're saying that they wanted you to betray your father? To give them his notes, his codes, whatever?" he asked incredulously. She looked up in surprise.

"Yes." Not exactly what he'd been thinking, then. He's almost relieved, but then…

"So, every time I talked to you, you thought that I just wanted…oh." His face fell.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mustang," Riza said quietly. "I know you're not that kind of person, now. You've had more opportunity than most of them did, and you've never _once_ tried to…but when I saw my locket in your hand..."

"You thought that I'd taken it to use as some sort of leverage against you," he finished. He had a disturbingly clear mental image of a boy about his age holding the locket over the head of a much younger Riza, one who cried and begged in vain for him to give it back as he taunted her.

"Yes," she whispered. "It wouldn't be the first time. Even though...I know you've never acted like that before, but...there were just certain things that-that reminded me of those other times."

"Yeah, like everything I've done since I got here," he mumbled, the sick feeling welling up in his belly.

It all made sense now. Why she was so quiet and cautious at first, and why she was so careful with what she said and how she moved in his presence. Why she'd always seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop whenever he talked to her. And here he was, thinking that she was finally beginning to trust him.

"There were others, weren't there, who started off being friendly to you, and then changed?" he asked in a dull voice.

"Yes," she said simply.

So all this time…she'd been testing him. Leaving herself vulnerable and exposed deliberately, to see whether he'd try anything. Probably just hoping he'd get it over with already. It really hurt, to know that she'd been viewing his sincere offers of friendship through such a sinister lens all of this time. Just waiting for the day he'd turn on her. He swallowed hard as another thought occurred to him.

"That day, when you dislocated your shoulder…you fell out of the tree, didn't you?" The tree with branches that nearly reached her bedroom window.

"Yes."

"I wondered," he said softly, eyes clouded. It was brilliant of her, really. How else could she be sure she'd never run into him in the hallway? Or slip back into her room unseen, without needing to pass by the library or the kitchen? Was that what she'd done this morning too? Avoided his unwanted company by taking refuge up a tree, where he'd never find her by accident?

Riza watched him closely, reading the emotions that flashed in his eyes.

Holding her breath, she slowly lowered her folded hands away from her breast. Her hands were no longer shaking when she unfolded them to reveal the pretty locket concealed there.

"Would...would you like to see it?" she asked softly. Roy's eyes flicked to hers, surprised, but he didn't move. "Here," she said, extending her hands toward him.

His heart leaped in his chest. Maybe…maybe he hadn't been completely wrong, after all. Maybe she really had been starting to trust him. Isn't that what this small gesture was? A display of her trust in him?

Roy moved very slowly, as though in the presence of a wild deer that would spring away if he spooked her. His fingertips, warm and calloused, brushed her palm as he lifted the necklace by the golden chain. He took a moment to admire the complicated pattern of leaves and flowers engraved along the edges, though he was already very familiar with it by this time. Running a thumb along the catch of the oval shaped locket, he looked at Riza again, silently asking permission. She nodded encouragement, and he flicked it open.

There were two pictures inside. One was of a woman he'd seen only once before in a faded photograph. This picture, although smaller, was clearer and less faded than the other one had been, and he studied it carefully. The second picture was of the same woman, in a wedding dress, standing beside his teacher, who wore a formal suit. They looked radiantly happy.

"She's beautiful," he murmured, reverently. "Your mom, right?"

"Mm-hm. She died about five years ago," she explained, shifting slightly closer to him. "I don't have much to remember her by, besides this locket. Papa…papa got rid of a lot of her things, after."

Roy studied the woman's face for another moment before carefully closing the locket again. With his free hand, he reached out and caught hold of Riza's slender fingers, gently tugging her hand closer. Solemnly, he then tipped the heavy locket into her outstretched palm and very gently folded her fingers back over it.

"Then this must be precious to you. I'm glad I found it before you missed it," he said softly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

They stared at each other for another moment, each equally aware that something had shifted in their relationship. Before it could become awkward, the clock in the hallway struck the hour, and both children jumped. And in the same moment they both began to laugh, amused at themselves for being startled.

"I should probably start dinner," Riza said shyly.

"Want a hand? I've gotten pretty good at chopping things," Roy offered with a grin. She blinked, considering.

"Sure, why not?"

As his chair scraped back, Roy saw something out of the corner of his eye. By the time he'd turned his head, it was already gone, but he could have sworn he'd seen the edge of his teacher's coat swishing around the corner.

* * *

**A.N. Well, he got there in the end. It only took him, what, three months? And yes, Berthold is a little stalker-y here, but then someone has to keep an eye on those darn apprentices! Thanks again for the reviews and follows and favorites, everyone! And please do let me know what you think of this chapter as well!**

**xoxo Janie**


	18. Fourteenth Entry

**July 19**

* * *

_"The heat wave hasn't let up all week, but the good news is that Hawkeye-sensei has started to allow me to work on certain transmutations down in the basement laboratory. It's MUCH cooler down there than it ever is in the rest of the house. I'd spend every day there if I could, but sensei only lets me go in there when he's there as well…I understand why, of course, but some days I almost want to tell him I don't care what he's working on or what secret notes he has down there so long as it's nice and cool inside._

_In the meantime, Miss Riza and I are getting along better than ever. I'm actually really glad we had that misunderstanding before, because ever since the Great Locket Debacle, she's been much more relaxed around me. She still slips off on her own, sometimes, but I'm trying not to take it personally. I believe Veronica and Juliet had it right when they said she just needs time to herself every now and then."_

* * *

Roy glared at the messy piles of paper strewn over the coffee table in front of him. He tore another page from his notebook and viciously crumpled it into a tight ball that he dropped on the floor with the others, each similarly crumpled. He sighed heavily and leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch. Just as he told himself he's better call it a night, Riza's soft voice broke into his thoughts.

"Couldn't you sleep, either?"

Roy startled a little and turned towards the open doorway, where Riza lingered doubtfully with one small hand resting on the door frame.

"Haven't gone to bed yet, actually," he admitted, smiling. "I was trying to finish this cipher first."

She glanced over at the clock, but didn't comment. It wasn't the first time she'd found him studying late into the night, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But she'd never interrupted him before.

"Mm," she murmured in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to disturb you. Good night, Mr. Mustang," and she turned to leave.

"No, wait," Roy said quickly, dropping his pen. "I'm not making any progress anyway; I was just about to give it up for the night. Come in and talk to me for a little bit, won't you?"

After the slightest hesitation, Riza entered the living room without further protest, and a voice in the back of Roy's tired brain wondered if she'd been secretly hoping he'd ask her to stay. It was odd for her to deliberately seek him out at such an hour, even if their recent interactions were markedly different from their initial awkward encounters. As he shifted some of his things aside so that she could sit beside him on the couch, Roy decided to find out what was on her mind.

"I didn't wake you, did I? Making too much noise?" he asked, knowing that he'd barely made a sound in hours.

"No, not at all," she replied a little absently, letting her gaze wander over the stacks of books and papers scattered around him. She was wearing a modest, pale blue dressing gown over her night clothes, in spite of the warmth of the summer night, and her arms were folded tightly across her chest. "I was…already awake when I noticed that the lights were still on down here," she said.

"Bad dream?" Roy asked lightly, purposefully looking away from her as he spoke. He was pushing his luck, he knew, and he half-expected her to ignore the question entirely.

"Something like that," she replied, almost too quietly to be heard. Roy stole a glance at her, surprised that she'd answered him at all. There was something forlorn in her expression, which he'd never seen there before. It made her seem…fragile, somehow. Vulnerable. More so than she'd ever been in his presence, even when injured and drugged.

The cushions next to him dipped slightly as she settled into the spot he'd cleared for her, drawing her legs underneath herself. She took a moment to tuck the edges of her robe around her bare feet. Roy had an odd feeling that if she'd been a much younger girl, or a less reserved one, she'd have curled up against his side for comfort, seeking the solace of human contact in the wake of a disturbing dream. But just as quickly as the thought formed, he pushed it from his mind. Regardless of her reasons, she'd sought out his company intentionally, and that was enough.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked in a low tone, shooting her another sidelong glance. She bit her lip, considering.

"It was…it was a dream about my mom," she said at last, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself.

"Ah," he replied softly, understanding lighting his features. Not a scary dream then. Not really a sad one either, or at least not entirely, but the sort of heartbreakingly joyful dream about a lost loved one, where you woke up filled with longing and an empty sort of ache in your chest, fighting to stay in the dream-world even as you realized that it was just a dream.

"Yes, exactly," Riza said, and Roy suddenly realized that he'd said the last part out loud without intending to. He flushed slightly. But Riza looked at him, then, and the sadness in her eyes had given way to a mixture of gratitude and relief, which drove away his embarrassment and left him feeling as though he'd said precisely the right thing for once.

Roy didn't know whether to blame the late hour or the dim amber glow of the lamp, but the conversation felt more intimate than any they've had before. Worried that anything else he might say would break the spell between them, he thought carefully about how Claire or Elinor would respond in such a situation, they being the two most likely to inspire confidences in others.

"If…you know, if you want to talk about it more…I'll listen," he offered, rubbing the back of his neck and trying not to sound like an awkward teenager. "And if not, then that's fine too." Not _quite_ what he'd meant to say, but it seemed to do the trick.

"Thank you, but I'm all right, now," Riza said with the hint of a smile. "I just…I still really miss her, sometimes. But...I'd feel worse if I didn't miss her at all, if that makes any sense." Roy noticed that she'd relaxed somewhat while speaking, loosening her tightly crossed arms and slumping a little more naturally on her cushion. When he shifted in his place to face her more directly, she moved also, unconsciously mirroring his position.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he replied. "I can barely remember what my own parents looked like, since I was so little when they died. If it weren't for the pictures, I dunno if I'd even have that much. But Aunt Chris made a point of talking about them a lot when I was growing up, so at least I feel like I know a little bit about them, even if I can't remember much." Something flickered across Riza's face then, and Roy wanted to kick himself. He'd said something wrong, again. Had he just ruined this moment? But Riza just sighed and picked at the hem of her robe with restless fingers.

"Papa never talks to me about my mother," she admitted softly, unraveling a loose thread. "I think…I think that it hurts him too much to think about her. So he just…doesn't."

Roy couldn't think of anything to say in response that wouldn't sound petty or trite. Instead, he reached over to give Riza's hand a quick squeeze. She didn't flinch or move away, and no flicker of fear or suspicion crossed her features, and Roy rejoiced inwardly.

After a moment, she cleared her throat delicately and shifted to tuck a stray wisp of blonde behind one ear.

"Need a hand straightening all this up?" she asked, with a vague gesture at the scattered notebooks and papers strewn across the table and floor around them. "Or are you not going to bed yet?"

"I think I'd better," he said, stifling a yawn. "Maybe this stuff will make more sense in the morning." He lurched forward and started to shuffle the papers together into a rough kind of pile. Riza leaned down to gather a few stray pages that had fallen to the floor. Glancing at a sheet of handwritten notes as she handed them over, she frowned.

"What did you say you're working on?" she asked as he took them. "Codes?" Roy glanced up, surprised.

"Yeah, how could you tell?" Riza shrugged.

"These little boxes and the strings of letters, with half of them crossed out. It looks like you've been working on a cipher and trying different key words."

"Yeah, that's exactly it. I'm trying to crack a playfair cipher," he sighed. "Sensei's been talking about codes and things lately. He says it's important to learn some basic codes if I want to delve into some of the deeper branches of alchemy. I guess most alchemists encode their notes so their work can't be stolen, and the research into certain topics might involve a certain amount of code breaking and puzzle solving. If you know the key it's easy, but trying to guess is...difficult." Riza's dark eyes flicked to his, sparkling with interest.

"He wants you to figure out what that sheet says? Using a playfair cipher but not knowing the key word?"

"Yep."

"That's extremely difficult, especially if you're a beginner," she breathed. "No luck so far, then?"

"Nope," he sighed. "I think he's trying to prove a point, actually."

"Why, did you tell him it sounded too easy for you or something?" she asked with a slightly lopsided smile. He didn't respond right away, and her soft smile widened into an impish grin. "You did, didn't you?" she demanded.

"No! Well, not in those exact words..." he said sheepishly. "I might have implied that it seemed easier than the other stuff we've been working on…but never mind. I'll just have to grovel appropriately when I fail miserably and pray that he'll take pity on me."

"It's your only hope," she agreed, still grinning. "I got pretty good at cracking the sort of codes that require a key _text_, but only because I cheated. I stopped dusting for a week to find out which books he'd been consulting on a regular basis," she said conspiratorially. "And then I just tried each of them. He said something once about knowing the person whose code you were trying to crack; that their habits and likes and connections helped you to know what sort of key they'd be likely to use. So…I took his advice." Roy was watching her with open admiration.

"Sneaky _and_ brilliant, I like that!" he laughed. "Well, so far I've only tried his name, your name, and the name of the town, with no luck...your last name has repeating letters, and so does your mom's, so those won't work either. I don't suppose you'd happen to know what other word he'd be likely to choose for this, do you?"

"How'd you know my mom's name?" she asked, with an odd hitch in her voice. Roy glanced at her, concerned.

"Saw it on the back of a photo I found, a while back," he explained. Her large brown eyes flicked to his quickly and then away. Roy had his head cocked to one side, genuine confusion on his face.

"I thought that maybe…oh, never mind," she mumbled, turning pink. It clicked, then.

"Hey," he said gently, reaching for her hand again. "He's not gonna talk to _me_ about personal stuff he won't tell his own daughter. He's not, you know, keeping you in the dark, or anything."

"I know," she murmured. "It's stupid; I'm just being silly." She gently returned the pressure of his warm fingers, but didn't make a move to draw her hand away from his.

"Hey, I have an idea," he said cautiously, after a moment. "What if we go treasure hunting?" She looked up at him again, the question clear in her eyes. "You said before that sensei got rid of a lot of your mom's things a few years back, right?"

"Yes…" she arched one eyebrow.

"Okay. Look, I know a woman who was widowed like a year after she got married. It was pretty tragic, they were both really young, and Ada was a total wreck afterward, and…well, long story short, she couldn't bear to look at Rick's things, but she didn't want to throw them out or give them away, either. So she boxed a bunch of them up and set them aside, thinking that one day she might be able to look at them again without bursting into tears."

"You have a point, somewhere in there," she said, faintly amused. He grinned.

"Well, what if sensei didn't chuck all your mum's things? Suppose he just boxed them up someplace? Have you ever gone looking?" She sat up straighter, intrigued.

"No," she said slowly. "I just started to notice that some of her things had been moved or gone missing…her clothes and jewelry from their room, some of the pictures and little trinkets she had out, that sort of thing," she mused. "That's when I took her locket and a few other little things and hid them in my room." Her free hand drifted to her collar, where Roy noticed the shimmer of a golden chain against her pale skin.

"But you've never looked, like in the attic or anything?" he persisted. "There is an attic somewhere, right?"

"There's mostly just books and old furniture up there, though," she answered thoughtfully. "But if he actually kept all those things of hers…then maybe they're in the barn."

"The barn? But isn't the hay loft too small to use for storage?" She shook her head.

"Not the hay loft. The room above it. Did you never notice that the barn looks bigger from the outside?"

"There's a secret room?" Roy exclaimed. Riza laughed.

"Sort of. It's meant to be a second story, but it's really more of an attic space, up in that big triangular space above the main part. You can only get into it from the hay loft, though, and I couldn't figure out how to get up there on my own. I was always too afraid to climb up on a ladder," she said. "It's too rickety. But if you came with me, one of us could hold the ladder steady while the other one climbed."

"Tomorrow, then?" Roy suggested.

"_Tomorrow,_ tomorrow, or _today_ tomorrow?" Riza asked, glancing at the clock again with a faint smile. Roy debated a moment.

"Um…_tomorrow_, tomorrow. I've got a lesson later today," he explained. "And by the time sensei's through lecturing me on my spectacular failure in cipher cracking, it'll probably be too late."

"In that case, we should probably get to bed," she said, rising. Roy followed suit, wincing slightly as his joints cracked in protest.

"Ow. No arguments here," he agreed, stretching his arms over his head.

She waited for Roy to put the rest of his papers in order and put out the light, and the pair walked upstairs in companionable silence. When they reached her bedroom, Riza stopped and turned to face him, her face earnest and pale in the dim light spilling out of her open doorway.

"Thank you, Mr. Mustang. For listening, and everything," she said quietly.

"You're welcome. And you know, I wouldn't mind if you just called me Roy," he added impulsively. Riza blinked, and then smiled a little regretfully.

"My father wouldn't like for me to take that liberty," she said gently. But before Roy had a chance to feel snubbed, she continued, a little shyly. "But you can call me Riza, instead of Miss Hawkeye. If you wanted to, I mean." Roy's answering smile was bright enough to light up the shadowy hallway.

"Goodnight, then, Riza," he replied cheerfully. "Or good morning, rather, I guess."

"Good morning," she replied with a soft laugh. "And sweet dreams."

* * *

**A.N. Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up, everyone. Real Life WILL insist that I pay attention to it sometimes. Updates might be a little less regular for the next few weeks, but I shall do my best! And thank you all for your support; feedback is deeply appreciated!**

**xoxo Janieshi**


	19. Fifteenth Entry

**July 21**

* * *

Two days later, Roy examined the wooden ladder in the hay loft of the barn with a doubtful expression.

"No wonder you were nervous about climbing this thing," he said. "It looks like it's about to disintegrate."

"It's not that bad," Riza protested. "I've been using it to climb up into the loft since I was six. Or at least, I used to until Papa got the metal one a few years ago." They both glanced over at the sturdy metal ladder they'd used to climb from the ground floor to the little loft, and Roy smiled.

"Yeah, well neither of us are six anymore," he said, and gave the wooden ladder a thoughtful kick. "And the metal one would be too heavy to drag up _here_…"

"You don't think this one will bear our weight?" Riza asked. Roy just shrugged.

"Only one way to find out," he said. Without further debate, he stepped onto the bottom rung.

"Wait, what are you doing? Shouldn't I go first?" she objected, putting a hand on his sleeve. "I'm lighter."

"You're crazy if you think I'd let you risk your neck while I sit here and watch," he replied. "Besides, if it'll hold me, then we'll know it can hold you. Just hold the bottom steady, won't you?" She bit her lip, but couldn't think of a counter argument. Finally she nodded and braced her arms on the smooth, worn sides of the ladder.

Roy moved slowly, carefully testing each creaky rung before resting his full weight on it. After what felt like hours (though it was really only about two minutes), he balanced at the top and gingerly pushed at the trapdoor above him. As it swung open, he was surprised to realize that the room beyond it was flooded in light. Clambering gracelessly through, he turned around to secure the top of the ladder so that Riza could follow him up.

"All right, be careful," he admonished her. But she was already halfway up the ladder, her excitement clear on her normally stoic features.

"Oh," she gasped as she cleared the final step, looking around her. "I didn't think there'd be so…much."

They stood side by side and surveyed the towers of boxes and old furniture around them. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunbeams that spilled in from the wide windows, liberally wreathed in cobwebs, on either side of the attic. The windows were unexpected, but very welcome, as Roy didn't see any other source of light—it seemed the attic space was not wired for electricity. Rising slowly, he took a tentative step towards the closest window, Riza hot on his heels.

"Not a project for the faint of heart, I guess. So where should we start?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Let's get these windows open a crack, first," she said, stifling a cough. "It's a bit stuffy in here."

Roy gave her a boost up onto an old armoire so she could get at the window latch, and caught her neatly when she jumped down again a moment later. As warm as it already was in the attic, they both appreciated the faint breeze from the open windows. It alleviated at least a portion of the close, suffocating feel of the air around them, and the children found themselves once again staring in awe at the sheer number of _things_ packed into the space.

"How'd he even get all this up here?" Roy wondered aloud. "I always thought the place looked like it was one good gust of wind away from a cave in. But with all this stuff up here, I can't believe it hasn't collapsed in on itself already." Riza chuckled.

"The floorboards down below might be a bit dodgy, but the foundation is solid. And the support beams are all still sound. It's sturdier than it looks," she said. Roy glanced at her with a sly quirk of his lips.

"It sure is," he said. She didn't seem to grasp his double meaning, though, as she simply brushed her dusty hands off on her thighs and looked around.

"Let's try over here, first," she said, indicating the end nearest the trap door they'd crawled in through.

"All right. Maybe we should split up," he suggested. "I'll start on this side, and you can start with those. Call out if you find anything interesting." He was hoping that the boxes closest to the trapdoor would be the ones she was looking for, and he wanted her to be the first one to look through them.

Several minutes passed in relative silence as the children shifted boxes, rummaged their contents, and sneezed from the small clouds of dust their movements disturbed. And then Roy made a small curious noise in the back of his throat.

"What've you got?" Riza asked, leaning back so she could see him around a large trunk.

"Big box of glass Christmas ornaments. Pretty ones, too, all wrapped in tissue and newspaper," he explained, holding one up so she could see it. "What about you? Anything good yet?"

"I just found a crate full of books…they all seem to be novels I've never heard of before," she mused, glancing at the titles of the ones she held in each hand. "Wonder why they're up here?"

"Not sensei's taste, maybe?" Roy replied, looking around with interest. Riza had flipped one of them open and was skimming quickly through a few pages. But after a moment she blushed and closed it quickly.

"No, I think not," she said in a rather pinched voice. Roy raised a quizzical eyebrow at her. "Romance," she said shortly, dropping the books back in the crate and shifting it aside. Her blush deepened as Roy snickered.

"My aunt's employees sometimes read those romance novels. The girls refer to them as 'bodice-rippers.' All heaving bosoms and lingering kisses with next to no plot. Total drivel, in my opinion."

"Omigod," Riza managed to say. Her face was now bright red, and buried in her hands. "I can't believe…why can't I go back and un-read what I just read?"

"Aw, can't be that bad," Roy teased. "Was someone running a feverish hand along the milky expanse of someone's thigh? Or laving silken skin with a hot velvet tongue?"

"Not helping!" Riza choked, half laughing but still clearly embarrassed.

"What were the character's names? The names are always my favorite part," Roy said, calmly closing yet another box of Christmas decorations and reaching for a third. "They always have to be something totally outrageous."

"Solange and Darius," she sputtered. "What the hell kind of name is Solange, anyway?" Roy laughed.

"Oh, those are good ones! I will never understand how people read those without laughing the whole time at the dumb names," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, the plots are bad enough, but—oh, hey, check this out!" He held up an unwrapped teacup, a pale ivory thing with delicate blue and green flowers along the edge. Riza forgot her embarrassment for a moment.

"China? I wonder if it's their wedding pattern," she said, creeping closer so that she could take the teacup from Roy. "Pretty," she murmured, turning it over in her hands.

"Yeah, it must be…there're plates in here too," Roy confirmed, shifting the tissue-wrapped bundles. "You wanna take any of it with us when we go? A teacup, maybe?"

"No, that's all right. I'd only be scared to use any of it in case I broke it or something. But it's nice to know that it's up here," she replied, replacing the teacup in Roy's outstretched hand. He re-wrapped it and gently placed it in the box with the others, and Riza carefully pried open another box in her section.

"I suppose we should try and hurry it up a bit," Roy said, swiping a hand over his damp brow.

"Yes. It'll only get warmer the longer we're here," she agreed, with a cursory glance at the contents of her box.

"Mm. This one has more china in it, and those three are all just Christmas decorations," he said, rising to his feet and brushing his pants off. "I'm heading this way next."

"Right. Oh!" she gasped. Roy stopped and turned back towards her.

"Find something?" But she'd frozen, kneeling in front of an old steamer trunk with her hands still resting on the lid she'd just opened. "Riza?"

"This dress," she murmured reverently. "I remember this dress." She looked up at last, her eyes bright, and smiled at him. "I—I've found some of her clothes." Roy picked his way back across the room and crouched down alongside her.

"Jackpot," he breathed. "What's that one?"

Roy watched as Riza ran her hands slowly over the old, familiar fabrics and recalled the happier times in which they'd been worn by a loving mother and doting wife. He listened quietly as she fumbled out half remembered stories of picking strawberries in the garden with her mother where she wore this dress, or about summer picnics at the lake when her mother had worn this hat and possibly these very ribbons in her hair. He smiled even as his own heart ached for the various small memories he'd never have with his own long deceased parents.

Wistfully, Roy rubbed the back of his hand across a pale yellow satiny sleeve and wondered whether Riza's mother had smiled when she'd worn this dress for the first time, gazing into her mirror while her five year old daughter looked on in awe, spinning so that the skirt billowed out around her and made her look like some sort of beautiful, exotic flower to the child's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Riza said in a small voice. Roy jerked himself out of his melancholy thoughts and looked up at her.

"Whatever for?" he asked, surprised.

"Rambling on like this. Boring you with silly, childish stories," she murmured, looking away.

"You aren't boring me. And they aren't silly," he said softly. "I think it's wonderful that you remember those things so clearly. It's…I think it's nice." His throat suddenly felt a little tight, and his voice sounded strange even to his own ears. "I'm…I guess I'm just a little jealous," he admitted. Riza glanced shyly back at him, twining her slender fingers in the lacey handkerchief she held.

"I don't mean to rub it in," she said softly. Roy swallowed hard.

"I know you don't. You aren't. I mean, I'm not gonna lie: I do wish I had memories of my folks like you do of your mom. But it's not bad for you to talk about it. It's not," he insisted when she shook her head. "Just because I don't have a boxful of my parent's things somewhere to look at doesn't mean I'm not happy that you **do**." Riza studied his face for a long moment.

"I'm still sorry," she said at last. "For bringing it up, if nothing else. We should probably go back, now," she said, still twisting the fragment of lace in her hands.

Roy simply smiled, with only the slightest trace of sorrow in his eyes.

"You know, I keep thinking about something my aunt once said to one of her girls…'Happiness is not a zero-sum game.' You shouldn't be upset at someone else's happiness just because you don't have the thing that made them happy for yourself. Being jealous of their happiness is just pointless, because their happiness in no way prevents you from being happy. At least, that's what I always thought that she meant. If that even makes sense?"

"No, it does," Riza said thoughtfully. She'd stopped the nervous movements of her hands. "You're trying to tell me I shouldn't feel sorry because I have happy memories attached to these things, right?" He smiled crookedly.

"Yep. So stop feeling guilty. Aunt Chris would probably wallop me for making you feel bad if she knew," he said.

"Your aunt sounds like an interesting woman," Riza ventured with another shy smile.

"Oh, you have no idea," Roy snorted, shaking his head. "Point is, I AM glad we found all this stuff, even if it's not something I have of my own. So please don't feel bad on my account. Did you really want to go, or was there anything you wanted to keep looking for?"

"Um…there were some photographs I'd like to find, but we can look for those another time if you'd rather?" she asked uncertainly.

"Well, it is getting warmer…let's try two more boxes each then, and we'll try again another day if we don't find them this time. Sound good?" Riza's face cleared somewhat, and she nodded.

"Which one should we try next?" she asked, carefully folding the dresses back into the trunk. Roy eyed a heavy black box beside them that looked to be made of some sort of metallic alloy.

"How about this one? Looks like it was made to last, anyway. Good place to keep something fragile like pictures, right?"

The lid came off the box with a rusty squeal, revealing neat stacks of papers.

"Hm. Legal papers, I guess," Roy said, turning over a few. "Yeah, look. Here's your birth certificate. And this one must be your parent's marriage record."

"I wonder why he put them up here?" Riza wondered aloud. "Aren't those the sorts of things you should keep in a secure place?"

"Maybe they're duplicates?" Roy suggested. "Anyway, at least you know they're here, now, in case you need them later.

"Maybe I should take some of this with me," she murmured.

"Or maybe we should get a more secure ladder so you can come up here at a moment's notice and grab them if you need," Roy suggested. "I can ask sensei some stuff about transmuting wood in our next lesson…and then I could make it out of some of the wood out back, if you want." Riza smiled at him.

"That would be great, thank you."

After that, they found a box of what seemed to be old camera equipment, another with (empty) picture frames stacked haphazardly inside, and another small trunk with a frothy white dress inside. Roy thought it looked familiar, and let out a soft "ah" of understanding when Riza pulled out her locket to compare the dress to her mother's wedding photo.

"How are these clothes not full of moth holes and what not?" he asked, gingerly touching the delicate fabric of the wedding gown.

"Because of the cedar. Moths hate it," she explained, pointing to a shingle of the fragrant reddish wood that had been hidden in the folds of the tulle skirt. "I wonder if I should put more of it in here?"

In the end, they didn't find the photos she'd been hoping to find, but they left the attic with a small bundle of official-looking documents and a silver picture frame Riza said she wanted for her room, as well as a delicate looking lace handkerchief with her mother's initials embroidered in one corner. And in spite of the slightly heavy turn their conversation had taken before, both Riza and Roy were looking forward to future explorations of the attic space.

* * *

And when Roy sat at his desk later that evening, he thought of Riza's bright eyes and soft, dreamy smile, and reached for his notebook with a hopeful fluttering in his stomach.

"No way to know for sure unless I ask, right?" he whispered.

_"I know this might seem like an odd question, auntie, but I've been wondering lately: do you have anything that used to belong to my mom or dad? Letters or photos or little mementos? You see, Riza and I have been exploring the attic…"_

* * *

**A.N. So...I meant for this to be more fluffy than the previous chapter, but the 'loss of parent(s)' angst will keep worming its way in. Sorry to be so heavy, but I do have my reasons. Please let me know what you think anyway! **

**Oh, and side note-my first encounter with a "bodice-ripper" romance novel was when I was about 14. It was my grandma's, and it was one of those horribly cheesy ones with the Fabio-esque-shirtless-man-with-a-six-pack holding a swooning woman-in-some-sort-of-period-dress on the cover, and the heroine's name really was Solange. Why I remember that, I can't even begin to imagine, especially considering how long ago that was...not enough brain-bleach in the world, I suppose ;)**

**xoxo Janie**


	20. An Unexpected Response

_"I know this might seem like an odd question, auntie, but I've been wondering lately: do you have anything that used to belong to my mom or dad? Letters or photos or little mementos? You see, Riza and I have been exploring the attic…" (July 21st)_

* * *

**August 10**

Chris Mustang found herself blinking away tears for the first time since…since as long as she could remember, though she knew she must have cried as a young girl. She hadn't shed a tear when she'd learned of the untimely death of her only brother and his young wife: there had been far too much to do, what with the funeral arrangements to make and a young child to care for. She'd mourned them, of course, but her grief had been of the silent and tearless variety. She'd been determined to keep her eyes dry for the sake of the orphaned child, and when Chris was determined, nothing stopped her.

And yet here she sat, some dozen years after the fact now, getting all sentimental and weepy over a box of trinkets. _Damn that brat_, she thought, dabbing her eyes carefully to prevent smearing her mascara._ Asking about his parents' things out of the blue like that._ Then again, she'd been the idiot to listen to him and to actually make the trek down to the dimly lit basement in search of the things she'd hidden away down there. She hadn't planned on answering him at all.

There wasn't really much. She'd kept a pair of charming little cherry wood end tables and an old hope chest with ivory inlays, which were in her bedroom. All of the other furniture had been sold in an estate sale, and the proceeds placed into an account under Roy's name. His mother's jewels, or at least the few decent pieces she'd had, were in Chris's own safe deposit box. Two exquisite strings of pearls, an opal ring sit in old gold, another ring with a modestly-sized sapphire flanked by tiny diamonds, platinum wedding band and engagement ring, and a gorgeous apple jade pendant: all earmarked for Roy's future bride, should she want them. Everything else was in the dusty little box currently sitting in Chris's parlor.

A few books, several photo albums, a crinkly bundle of love letters tied with a faded pink silk ribbon, an engraved pocket knife in remarkably good condition, and a rather beautiful family bible bound in dark blue leather with pages tipped in silver. Inside, records of births, deaths and marriages of the Mustang family for the past seven generations had been carefully updated in varying shades of ink, in varying scripts. The most recent was written in the fragile, elegant script of Roy's own mother, recording the birth of her first and only child. Reading over that once-familiar handwriting was what had started Chris's eyes burning.

Hadn't she ever told Roy that the quilt on his bed had been handmade by his mother? Maybe she should remind him in her next let—OH! Chris sucked in a breath and dug through the box again. She was certain she'd saved it, wondering if any of her girls would take an interest in crafts…here! This little book, bound in ice blue satin. It wasn't a book at all, but a journal of sorts.

Roy's mother had filled its pages with little inspirational phrases and quotes, recipes, knitting patterns, random sketches, and her quilting patterns. It wasn't something a teenage boy would normally be interested in, but ...it was still something that Roy's mother had held very dear, once. She'd put a little piece of herself in these pages, and surely that was something that Roy would appreciate looking over.

"Good lord, not again," Chris grumbled, dabbing at the moisture in her eyes yet again. "Who'd have thought I'd be brought so low by such sentimental musings?"

* * *

"Mr. Mustang? Are you—is everything all right?" Riza's concerned voice cut into Roy's reverie.

"Oh, hey. I didn't hear you come in," Roy said, looking up from the letter in his lap. "I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

"I just asked you if everything was okay. I've been calling you to lunch for the past fifteen minutes."

"Oh, right, sorry!" he said, scrambling to his feet. "Everything's fine. Or at least, I think so," he continued, following her to the kitchen. "I've just had a letter from my aunt." Riza looked at him quickly as she handed him his plate. She'd seen him collect the letter a few hours previously, during their weekly shopping trip in town.

"Not bad news, I hope?" she said anxiously.

"No, no, nothing bad," Roy assured her, sitting in his usual place at the table. "She just…doesn't really sound like her usual self, so I was wondering what's got into her. That's all."

"What do you mean? Is she ill?" Riza frowned, worried.

"No, not that…It's kinda hard to explain," he murmured, and took a bite of his sandwich. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Roy finally spoke up again. "A few weeks ago, I asked Aunt Chris whether she'd kept any of my parents' things," he said nonchalantly, shrugging a bit as if to show it didn't bother him one way or the other whether she had.

"And did she?" Riza prompted gently, not the least bit fooled by his feigned indifference.

"That's just it—she never answered my question. I just figured she hadn't and didn't want to tell me outright, which is really unlike her. She's usually pretty direct, and she's never tried to sugarcoat bad news for me before." He shrugged again, brow creased in confusion. "So I dropped it."

"But she's written to you now?" Riza asked.

"Yeah," he said. Which was also odd behavior, though Roy didn't mention that part. He'd never really explained that his usual correspondents were actually his aunt's employees, whom he considered to be surrogate sisters, and Riza hadn't thought to ask. Of course, Chris always added a sentence or two to their letters when they wrote, or simply asked Elinor to send her love if she were too busy with the bar, but this time she'd actually written Roy a whole letter all on her own, without any input or additions from the girls. Roy wasn't sure what to make of it.

"I dunno. Maybe I made her feel guilty that she hadn't saved anything of theirs, or something," he guessed. "Anyway, I have this old patchwork quilt back home, on my bed. Aunt Chris has never said a single thing about it, not once, in all the years it's been there. And now she suddenly tells me that my mom made it for me, before I was born. I've had something of hers all this time and I had no idea," he said, shaking his head.

"I wonder why she didn't just say so when you asked," Riza mused.

"That's exactly what I've been wondering. And she's also sent me this," he added, reaching into his pocket. He held out the small blue book for Riza's inspection.

Riza took it from him carefully, after wiping her hands thoroughly on her napkin. Interest bloomed on her gentle features as she turned the little book over in her hands.

"One of her books?"

"No, she says it belonged to my mother. It's a journal of sorts," Roy explained, reaching for his drink.

"Oh," she breathed, awestruck.

"Take a look," he offered, gesturing with his free hand.

Odd, as much as he'd been longing to have some little item as a memento of his parents, he had no qualms in handing it over freely to this girl whom he'd known for less than half a year. And Riza was proving herself worthy of his trust in her. She handled his odd little treasure with the appropriate reverence, gently turning over page after page as though it were printed on delicate onionskin rather than plain, ordinary writing paper.

"Hm…a quote from Wordsworth, I think, and this one sounds like…Blake, maybe?" she mused, skimming through the elegant script. "Rossetti, Milton, and…a sketch. Of a bird. Are these recipes? Yes, apple cobbler, honey wheat bread, lemon cake…the seed stitch? Oh, knitting. Or is it a crochet pattern? I never learned either, so they both look the same to me...pretty. Oh!"

"What?" Roy interjected, fascinated by her vague murmurings as she flipped though the little blue journal.

"She's written about making a quilt from old clothing," she explained, still looking down at the page. "You know, cutting up dresses and things that have gone out of fashion but whose fabrics aren't worn out yet."

"Yeah? Huh. I wonder if mine's made from clothes," he said, intrigued.

"Maybe, but if she made it for you, then it's more likely that she chose specific fabrics that she liked, to match the colors and theme of your nursery and such…" she trailed off, still staring down at the book.

"Do you quilt?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. Riza looked up at last.

"Not me, but there are a few of the older ladies in town I could ask to teach me, if I wanted to learn," she replied. She gently closed the book again and bit her lip, which Roy had come to realize was a sign that something was bothering her.

"Mr. Mustang," she said quietly, a trace of the old nervousness in her eyes. "May I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course. What's up?" he replied.

"About this journal…I know it's your mother's and it must be special to you, so it's really all right if you say no, I completely understand," she began, speaking very quickly. "But…do you suppose I could—would you mind if I copied out this one pattern? I'll be really careful, I promise," she finished anxiously.

"Oh! Yeah, of course, go ahead. I trust you," he replied, a little surprised. "Copy out anything in there you'd like."

"Thank you," she said warmly.

"You're welcome. I'm sure my mom would just be happy that someone is getting some use of out her patterns. As great as it is to have something of hers, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to take up quilting or knitting," he said drily.

"Never say never," she replied with a smile. "Though I suppose you could just transmute yourself a scarf or a quilt if you really needed one, with the right formula."

"True, but it wouldn't be the same as a handmade one," he grinned.

"Without the added sentimental value of the effort that went into making it, you mean?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess that's what it is," he said. "It just _means_ more if you know someone put their heart into making it for you. Or if you made it for yourself, then there's something special about enjoying the end result of your own hard work, knowing exactly how much trouble you went to for it. You know?"

"I do," she said, sobering a little. They were quiet for a moment.

"You're thinking of using some of your mum's old things to make a quilt, aren't you?" Roy asked suddenly. Was this topic still a tender one? Tender, but not off limits, it seemed, as she nodded shyly and smiled again.

"It's not like they're doing anyone any good sitting in a dusty old barn," she said.

"Hey, speaking of the barn," Roy said with a brilliant smile. "I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you."

"The ladder?" she cried eagerly.

"Yep!" he beamed at her. "The circle's ready; I just need to add the raw materials and we're good to go."

"What did Papa say when you asked him about it?" Riza asked. Not that he'd be angry with them for going into the attic, but she wondered if he'd figured out why Roy was suddenly asking about wood densities and such.

"I didn't have to ask anything, actually," Roy admitted, a slight crease appearing on his forehead. "I was all set to ask sensei how to repair something made of pine, when he suddenly starts lecturing me about the different kinds of wood and the properties and strengths of each of them."

"Really?" Riza asked incredulously.

"I know. D'you think he knows we were exploring up there?"

"Probably," she replied, with a thoughtful frown. "Every time I think he's not paying attention, he surprises me with something like that."

"Well, at least we know he doesn't mind us rifling around up in the attic, then," Roy smiled. "He'd never have told me all that about the wood otherwise." He'd been a _little_ worried that his teacher would be annoyed with him for snooping around, although he'd said from the beginning that Roy was allowed to go wherever he liked on the property. (Except his lab, of course.)

"You realize what this means, don't you?" Riza said solemnly.

"What's that?" Roy asked, instantly curious. She looked so serious, he found himself holding his breath and waiting for her answer. She let the silence drag out dramatically before she slowly shook her head.

"There's no hidden treasure up in the attic," she said.

For a moment, Roy just stared at her. Her eyes sparkled, and her lip quirked, and then both teens burst out laughing.

"No, I guess not, huh?" Roy managed. "Unless of course, he's just using us to fetch it down for him."

"Oh yes, all those chests of gold must be heavy," she agreed, giggling.

"The two of us should be able to manage if we work together," he said. "But if it's some sort of cursed treasure, then I want no part of it."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts," she teased. "Big, strong alchemist like you couldn't protect himself from a few spirits?"

"All bets are off if there're skeletons in the wardrobe up there," he laughed. "I mean, some of those chests and crates looked plenty big enough to hide a body in."

"Oh don't worry. All the bodies are buried in the basement," she quipped.

"From former treasure-hunters, I presume?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Of course not. Just the former _students_," she grinned wickedly, and Roy nearly fell off his chair laughing.

"Dead men tell no tales, right? But before you dispose of me, you may as well get some use out of me," he managed, still giggling weakly. "Come on, let's go and see about that ladder."

* * *

**A.N. Thank you all again for the lovely reviews; your words mean a lot to me! Also, thank you for being patient with me and my inability to carve out time each day to sit down and write these past couple of weeks...you can blame my puppy for that one. (What's with this constant need for my attention? Feed me, play with me, walk me, geez. He's lucky he's cute.) And don't get me started on my employer; silly people actually expect me to WORK while I'm at work. Don't they know I have better things to do?! So unreasonable! ;)**

**A special thanks to my guest reviewer, who I am unable to PM individually. I'm glad you can relate to my traumatic experience, LOL And don't worry, the angst won't ever become unbearable, and I do try to balance it out with equal amounts of fluff. :D**

**xoxo Janie**


	21. Heart to Heart

**August 23**

* * *

_It was a dark and stormy night…no, really._

* * *

Roy sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. Another flash of lightning lit up his room, followed closely by a deafening peal of thunder. Shivering, though the night wasn't the least bit cold, he crept out of his bed and pushed aside his curtains to look out the window.

_Third time this week,_ he thought. Riza certainly hadn't been kidding about the August thunderstorms. And this one seemed to be more severe than the others he'd experienced.

It wasn't actually raining at the moment, although what he could see of the ground below was definitely damp. The electrical storm waged on in the clouds above, and Roy found himself fascinated by the streaks of forked lightening that chased each other across the sky.

He wondered, with another shiver, how often the lightning struck buildings around here, and whether they had lightning rods on the tops of their barns and things, as most of the buildings in Central did. They must have _something_ similar here, he was certain. Otherwise they'd have terrible fires to contend with after each storm, since most of the buildings were constructed of flammable materials.

Although the frequency of the blinding flashes and deafening booms seemed to be decreasing somewhat, Roy still felt too uneasy to go back to bed. Maybe some chamomile tea would help him sleep, he thought, and pulled on the rumpled shirt and cotton pajama pants he'd discarded earlier in the evening. They were much too warm to sleep in this time of year, though for decency's sake he wouldn't dare wander about the house wearing only his boxers.

Padding along the hallway in bare feet, Roy cast a long, wistful look at Riza's closed door. No light shone from beneath it, unfortunately, so there was no excuse to knock and ask her to join him. He almost went right back to his room when he realized that the idea of hot chamomile tea was much less comforting _without_ the promise of Riza's company in the bright warmth of the kitchen.

But he _was_ already awake. And the storm hadn't entirely moved on, yet, so there was little chance of falling back to sleep any time soon. Roy sighed and plodded down the stairs anyway.

_"Don't be childish," _he thought to himself._ "You don't need someone to hold your hand. It's not like you're afraid of thunder. It's just a bit loud, that's all. The noise is keeping you up, nothing more."_

He was so preoccupied with his internal monologue that he didn't register the fact that the kitchen light was on. Or that someone was already standing at the stove waiting for the kettle to boil. He stopped short just inside the doorway, astonished.

"Not the Hawkeye you expected to see, I presume?" his teacher asked in a dry tone, without even turning around to look at him.

"Hawkeye-sensei! No, that's not—I-I didn't—" Roy stammered, confused. But curiosity quickly overcame embarrassment. "How'd you even know it was me?" he asked. The man hadn't even glanced his way when he first entered the room. Berthold finally turned to face him with an amused expression.

"My daughter has never made quite that much noise coming down the stairs, my boy," he answered.

"Oh. Right," Roy said, feeling faintly foolish. Stupid question, really. Especially considering how often he had personally commented on Riza's propensity for silent, stealthy movement.

"Tea?" Master Hawkeye said, gesturing to the steaming kettle.

"Um, yes, please." Roy rubbed his bleary eyes and settled at the kitchen table in his usual place, watching his teacher moving quietly through the kitchen with mugs and honey. "Did the storm wake you, as well, sir?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Berthold replied, fussing with the kettle. "I have always had trouble sleeping during a thunderstorm. Something about the electricity in the air makes me restless. Antsy, if you will."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Roy mumbled.

"It's a most unpleasant sensation, and one that makes rest impossible," his teacher continued as though Roy had not spoken. "Here you are," he added, handing Roy a steaming mug.

"Thanks," Roy murmured gratefully, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic.

"It also makes it extremely difficult to concentrate on equations and sigils. Hence my presence in the kitchen rather than the laboratory at such an hour," he explained, lowering himself into the chair across from Roy.

"Yeah, I can see how you'd have trouble focusing on your research," Roy agreed with a grimace as another loud rumble shook the very foundations of the house. His teacher smiled wryly.

"Yes, the noise is distracting indeed. Although I suspect my discomfort has something to do with the manner in which the electrostatic discharge affects the atmosphere. I've never been able to test the theory in a controlled laboratory experiment, of course, but such is my belief," he said.

Silence fell as the two of them sipped tentatively at the still scalding liquid.

It was strange, in a way, and yet not strange at all. Roy was sure he'd never even seen Hawkeye-sensei in the kitchen before, and yet here he sat as comfortably as though they'd been meeting like this every night since Roy's arrival. It wasn't as awkward as Roy might have expected, even with Berthold's piercing gaze raking over him, cataloguing and deducing and filing away all the little details he read from Roy's posture and expression and tone of voice. Roy had grown used to being examined like a specimen on a slide, he supposed, so it didn't really bother him as it might have done several months before. Although he suddenly wondered what it was that his teacher observed.

Above them, another peal of thunder crashed, and Roy jumped in his seat.

"I see we share a dislike of electrical storms," Berthold said gently. Roy hoped his face wasn't as flushed as it felt. He ran an unsteady hand through his sleep-ruffled hair.

"We don't get them quite like this back home," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I guess they make me a little nervous still."

"You will grow more accustomed to them in time," his teacher replied with a sage nod. Roy pricked up his ears. He had been wondering lately, how long Master Hawkeye would consent to tutor him before he was sent packing. And a phrase like that implied that his teacher intended to keep him around—at least long enough to "grow accustomed" to the inclement weather.

"I hope so," he replied, carefully. A small, enigmatic smile appeared on Berthold's face.

"I've found that making a soothing cup of tea provides an excellent distraction from those things which cause me uneasiness, although congenial conversation is certainly beneficial as well," he said. "However, I am afraid you will have to settle for my company tonight, rather than my daughter's."

"I take it the storms never disturb Miss Hawkeye, then?" Roy asked boldly, looking down at his tea with calculated nonchalance. It was as close as he was willing to get—there were just certain topics he didn't quite dare to discuss openly. What, if anything, his teacher might think of the friendship between his student and his daughter was near the top of Roy's list. He could almost hear his aunt's voice whispering in his ear, telling him to listen to what _wasn't_ being said as much as what _was._

"No," Berthold was saying, slightly amused. "Even if the noise woke her, my daughter would prefer to watch the lightning from her bedroom windows. In thrills, but does not frighten her."

"She's a brave girl," Roy answered solemnly. He felt his teacher's piercing gaze upon him again, and raised his eyes to meet it, fearlessly.

"That she is," Berthold said very softly.

Roy felt that there was an extra weight to the words, somehow. As though there was another layer of meaning, as though his teacher was admitting to something wonderful and precious and secret.

Another flash of lightening illuminated the world outside of the kitchen windows, and the lights above them flickered. Roy knew that he must choose his words carefully if he wished to continue the current conversation. But before he could marshal his thoughts, Berthold spoke up again.

"So how did your repair on the ladder turn out?" he asked, somewhat abruptly.

Roy hesitated for a less than half a second, before grinning cheekily. No point in denying it. Clearly he already knew why Roy had been fussing about with the ladder in the first place.

"Great, once I accounted for the difference in density between the cedar and the pine," he replied. "It's much sturdier now than it was before. Even Miss Hawkeye thought so," he added, slyly.

"Good, good," his teacher nodded gravely, and then fixed him with another of those burning stares, willing him to understand. "I am…pleased with your progress, Mr. Mustang. I have written to your aunt to discuss the terms of your continued apprenticeship."

"Thank you, sir," Roy said respectfully, as a warm feeling flooded his belly.

If an offer of extended apprenticeship wasn't tacit approval of him (and his growing friendship with Riza,) then Roy didn't know what was. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but his teacher simply inclined his head in acknowledgement and calmly sipped from his mug.

"And how are your lovely sisters, my boy?"

Roy blinked. His teacher had never asked him about his personal life before, and he couldn't imagine what brought on his sudden interest.

"They're very well, sir, thank you. I've just had a letter from them."

"I see. Tell me about them, if you please."

In spite of the suddenness of the odd request, Roy found himself telling his teacher all about his adopted family members. Ingenuous Ada, who'd been widowed at nineteen; Dependable Juliet, who showed her affection with food and wanted to be a military investigator; Gentle Elinor, the most calm and sensible of the girls and the de facto older sister of the lot; Sweet Lucy, whose bright, cheerful face and honest kindness made loving her irresistible; Brave Violet, who took late night classes in the hopes of earning her teaching credential; Dreamy Claire, who spent all her spare time either reading or writing; Clever Veronica, who assisted her private investigator father when she wasn't working with Chris; and Feisty Sophie, who was a genius with a needle and thread and whose red-gold hair was the secret envy of the whole of Chris's establishment.

Berthold listened with the same calm gravity as always, occasionally asking a question or making a comment.

"You care for these young women very much," Berthold said. "Though none are your true blood relatives." Neither statement was a question, but Roy felt compelled to answer anyway.

"Yes, sir. Blood relation doesn't really factor into it. It's…I dunno; I suppose you could say they're close friends, although that doesn't quite feel like the right word, either," he mused. "I've known most of them for years, now, and I've lived with some of them. The ones who rent rooms with my aunt, I mean. They've just become a part of my family."

He looked up to find Berthold's steady blue eyes fixed on his face.

"I see," he breathed softly. Again, Roy found himself wondering _what_ exactly it was that his master saw. As he was pondering this question, he noticed something else.

The thunder had moved on.

"Oh!" he said, looking out the window. "It's stopped. I didn't realize."

"As I said, congenial conversation makes for an excellent distraction," Berthold said, rising gracefully and gliding to the sink with the empty mugs. He moved as soundlessly as his daughter, Roy noticed. "You should try to get some rest before sunrise, my boy," he added over his shoulder.

"Yes, you're right. Thanks for the tea. And for everything else, sensei," Roy said, dragging himself to his feet. Berthold turned to smile at him.

"Until the next time, then. Good morning. And sweet dreams."

Roy was crawling back into his four poster bed before he recalled that another late night conversation, weeks ago now, had ended with the exact same words. And the voice in his head that sounded like his aunt murmured that it was no coincidence.

He was still smiling when he fell asleep.

* * *

**A.N. Thank you all so much for your patience! And for all of the reviews, follows and favorites, especially to my guest reviewer(s) whom I am unable to thank individually. You guys rock!**

**xoxo Janie**


	22. Sixteenth Entry

**September 3**

* * *

_"Dear Aunt Chris, Ada, Juliet, Sophie, Elinor, Veronica, Claire, Lucy and Violet,_

_I thought that the weather would cool off some after all the thunderstorms we've had lately. But it's been even worse the past few days. Yesterday was especially horrible._

_Riza and I had been listening to a radio program, but it was one we'd both heard before. The heat was making us lazy and irritable, so neither of us wanted to move, or do much of anything at all. I was lying on the sofa, and Miss Riza was draped sideways over the armchair, each of us trying to convince the other to get up and switch the radio station or just turn the damn thing off. Finally Riza decided she'd had enough. She jumped up, turned the radio off, and glared down at me with her hands on her hips._

_'That's it. I can't stand this anymore. We're going on a walk,' she said._

_ I told her she must be out of her mind if she thought I was going to go hiking out in the miserable, sticky heat, but she just shook her head and got this stubborn glint in her eye, and told me it was better than lying around the stuffy living room for the third day in a row. I grumbled a bit, but I followed her to the kitchen and found myself making sandwiches while she filled a thermos with lemonade._

_She led me into the woods, but not along the usual path, choosing instead an unmarked trail that I'd never noticed before. I had to admit that it was much cooler under the trees, and for a while I thought that a cool clearing someplace ahead was the only destination she had in mind. Then we came over the crest of a hill, where the trees thinned out and we could feel a nice breeze. But instead of a clearing, there was a lake ahead of us. I had no idea it was there, even after six months of wandering around and exploring these woods._

_'You're right; this is much better than listening to another trite radio drama,' I told her. She smiled, and said it was one of her secret hiding places._

_Only, as we soon found out, her hidden lake wasn't as secret as she'd thought."_

* * *

"No, no, you need one that's a bit flatter…here, try this one," Roy said, offering Riza a small, smooth stone.

She dropped the defective rock into the water at their feet with a soft plunk, and then positioned herself as he'd instructed. Roy frowned slightly and moved behind her to adjust her stance.

"All right," he said, placing on hand on her wrist and guiding her arm back and forth in an arc. "Just like that, and then you flick your wrist like _this_ as you let it go. Ok?"

"Ok," she replied doubtfully. Roy stepped back, gave her the "_go on, then_" gesture, and smiled brightly. With another rather skeptical look at him, Riza reared back and let her stone fly. It skipped over the placid surface of the lake three times.

"Three! Not bad!" he beamed at her, and promptly began scanning the ground around their feet for another suitable stone to throw.

"How on earth did you get that first one to skip _seven_ times?" she asked with a faint trace of envy.

"Loads of practice," he answered, shrugging. "There's this pond in a park near my aunt's house, and I spent a lot of time skipping rocks when I was…er, when I was…bored."

"When you were cutting classes, you mean?" Riza asked with an arched eyebrow. Roy grinned somewhat sheepishly, and Riza couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Well, it wasn't all the time, or anything," he chuckled. "But there were a few teachers I didn't mind avoiding." He waded a few steps farther out into the lake, careful not to wet the cuffs of his rolled up pants. Riza followed cautiously, as the hemline of her dress was still well above the water.

"The water feels nice, doesn't it?" she said, bending to pluck another stone from the beneath the clear, cold water.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," he sighed. "How come no one goes swimming out here? Seems a shame not to."

"Too far from town, I suppose," she frowned. "I've wondered whether anyone else even knows about this place, though clearly _someone_ must," she said, gesturing to the wooden dock a short distance away. "But I've spent whole days just reading and dangling my feet in the water, and never seen a soul." Something about her tone and the choice of words made Roy shoot her an odd look.

"What, don't _you_ come here to swim?" Roy asked, incredulous. Riza flushed.

"Not really, no."

"What do you mean, 'not really?'" he asked, watching her more closely now. She was biting her lips, and didn't answer right away. "Don't tell me…" he said slowly. "Riza…Don't you know how to swim?" Her eyes flashed, and her cheeks flushed darker.

"No. I don't," she said shortly, balling her hands into fists at her sides. She stood up straighter and raised her chin defiantly, as though daring him to tease her about it.

"Want me to teach you, then?" he said brightly, instead. She blinked rapidly in surprise, and Roy had to bite his tongue to hold back his laugh. It was too easy to wind her up, sometimes. "Come on, I'm serious. It's not all _that_ difficult. I can at least show you enough so you won't drown if you ever fall into a body of water unexpectedly." She rolled her eyes at that, but started to smile again.

"Because I'm so likely to encounter large, unexpected bodies of water in the middle of the town I've lived in my whole life?" she asked, amused.

"Hey, you never know! Suppose one of those damn thunderstorms drops enough rain to flood the creek by your place? Or turns one of those old wheat fields into a swamp? Or…or a water main bursts and floods your basement? Then what would you do?"

"Keep away from it. Find higher ground. _Not_ go down into the basement," she answered, dryly.

"Aw, come on. You're not scared, are you?" he teased. In one smooth movement, he stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the grassy bank behind them, where they'd left the bag with their picnic lunch. His pants followed a moment later.

With a slightly wicked grin, he turned and cut cleanly through the water, surfacing several dozen feet farther away from shore as Riza looked on with mild alarm.

"Mr. Mustang, be careful," she said weakly. "It's deeper than it looks…" He tossed his wet hair back and waved.

"Come on!" he cried. "It'll be fun!"

"What, you mean right now?!" she sputtered. "But—" she glanced down at her flimsy summer dress with a mixture of dismay and confusion. Roy answered her unspoken question.

"Oh, just come in! Your dress will dry in five minutes once we're out of the water. We'll just lie in the sun for a while before we head back. Come on!"

"But…but I don't—" she stammered, nervously brushing her hands over her skirt. Roy ducked under the water again, swimming back towards her this time.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said solemnly, standing up again just a few feet away from her. "I promise." And he stretched out his hand. Water ran down his bare chest in tiny little rivulets, and his wet boxer shorts clung to his hips in a way that would have made Riza flush if she'd been able to tear her eyes away from his face.

Roy could see her uncertainty at war with the trust she had in him and in their friendship. She _wanted_ to believe him. He'd never let her down before now, but he'd also never asked her to essentially risk her life, before. Roy opened his mouth to tell her to forget it; that they didn't have to if she honestly was scared of the water. But then Riza slowly reached out and placed her hand in his.

"If you let me drown, I'll haunt you from beyond the grave," she said, seriously. Roy grinned.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

They waded deeper, until the water came just to their waists. Reminding Riza that her feet could still touch the bottom, and that he would stay right beside her the whole time, Roy spent several minutes showing her how to float on her back. He gently prodded her spine whenever she started to fold in on herself and sink, always keeping a steady hand outstretched beneath her in case she floundered, while steadfastly ignoring the semi-transparent material of her dress as it billowed out around her in the water.

Living in a houseful of women who were very comfortable with themselves and their bodies meant that Roy had more practical knowledge of the female figure than most boys his age. His aunt had always been very matter-of-fact about the human body (and indeed, had often volunteered information Roy wished she'd kept to herself), and he'd seen his 'sisters' in varying states of undress on a fairly regular basis since he was old enough to recognize that boys and girls were built differently. Roy was therefore far less likely than most teenagers to be reduced to a stammering, sweating mass of lust and nerves at the mere sight of a scantily clad girl.

He _was_ still a teenage boy, however, and there were just certain things he couldn't help but notice about Riza's nascent curves. So he reminded himself that Riza was his friend, that she trusted him, and that he wanted to be worthy of that hard-earned trust. And he very carefully kept his hands (and eyes) from wandering, taking pains to touch her only when necessary. It was worth the effort, he decided, to keep things from becoming awkward between them. Since Riza remained oblivious to his internal struggles, her innocence only reinforced his decision and made it easier to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

Once Riza felt comfortable just being in the water, confident in her ability to stay afloat on her own, she allowed Roy to lead her even farther out, where the water came up above their shoulders. Over the course of the next hour, Roy taught Riza how to propel herself under the surface of the water, as he'd done earlier, and how to hold her breath and slowly let it out through her nose so she could stay under longer. He had just started to explain the mechanics of the breaststroke (as she treaded water contentedly beside him) when they heard voices approaching the lake from the trees behind them.

Roy drew in a sharp breath, looking over at Riza and the clingy material of her wet sundress. He was also painfully aware of his own distinct lack of clothing. If anyone from the village saw them together, they'd make assumptions. The gossip would spread like wildfire, and Riza would be mortified and ashamed.

"I thought you said no one else came out here?" he said softly. Riza started to stand, her eyes wide. But she glanced down at herself, blanched, and sank back under the water.

"They don't," she breathed. She wasn't the swearing type, but Roy could see the expletive on her face as plain as though she'd shouted it.

He looked around quickly, noting the thick clumps of reeds growing along the edge of the lake.

"Over there—?" he gestured to the reeds with his chin, and Riza nodded quickly.

"Come on," she whispered, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging him towards the foliage. He shook his head.

"They'll see my clothes and our other stuff," he explained. "But they won't know that I'm not here alone. Go!" Understanding flickered over her face, and she squeezed his arm briefly in gratitude before ducking under the water and gliding noiselessly to the water's edge, just as he'd taught her. Roy waited until she was safely ensconced in the reeds before propelling himself closer to the dock, splashing noisily.

All the time, the voices were drawing nearer. As Roy slicked his wet hair back with one hand, he finally spotted the group of five teens approaching the water's edge. They'd already realized that they had company.

"Hullo!" one of the boys said cheerfully, waving and squinting at him. "Who's that, then?" The other boy nudged him and mumbled something under his breath. Roy groaned internally, but lifted a hand in greeting. The second boy was Harry, one of the Terrible Trio.

"Hello!" he called back. "Roy Mustang. Mr. Crofter and I have already met, but I don't think I recognize the rest of you?" Harry had the grace to blush at the mention of their previous meeting, but he ducked his head in acknowledgement. The first boy, tall and blue-eyed with sandy blonde hair, glanced between them with interest, but shrugged and carried on with his greeting.

"I'm Peter Kingsley, and this is my little brother Edmund," he said, clapping his hand on the shoulder of a shorter, darker boy beside him, who nodded somewhat sulkily. "Dr. James is a close friend of our father's; he mentioned you a while back. It's good to meet you at last," Peter continued with a bright smile.

"Likewise," Roy managed, smiling back in spite of himself. Peter seemed nice enough, at least. He recalled Riza saying that Harry Crofter wasn't so bad when he wasn't hanging around Tom and Rick. Maybe this Peter person was a good influence, then. Roy turned his attention to the two girls standing slightly behind Harry. They seemed to be carrying on a whispering, giggling sort of conversation. Peter noticed where Roy was looking, grinned again, and took it upon himself to complete the introductions.

"The twiggy blonde is our cousin, Polly Plummer. And that's her friend Jill, who's visiting for the summer." Hearing their names, the two girls looked around. Polly, who seemed to be the bolder of the two, stepped forward.

"Pleasure," she said, tossing her long blonde ponytail over her shoulder. "We'd love to join you, but Jill and I were wondering whether you're fit for female company," she continued innocently. Jill choked and flushed before hissing and swatting at her friend's arm.

"Way to be subtle, Polls," Edmund murmured, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Roy very carefully did _not_ turn his head to the quivering clump of reeds he could see out of the corner of his eye. He had no doubts that Riza's hysterical (though silent) laughter would give her away if this went on too long. He cleared his throat.

"Take a closer look at the pile of clothes there, and you tell me," he said saucily. But even as he said so, he realized that Riza had left her sandals beside his shoes. If any of the others noticed them sitting beside his shirt and trousers, the jig would be up. But Polly was giggling.

"I hope that means you've got something on in there, because I've been thinking about this lake all day, and I'm not about to let propriety stop me from cooling off in this god awful heat. So, fair warning, and all that."

She had already kicked off her shoes and was peeling her blouse off to reveal a modest one piece bathing suit. Her cousins shrugged and followed suit, and even Harry was cheerfully shedding his clothes without compunction. Only Jill hung back, until Polly pounced on her, threatening to assist her. With much giggling and squealing, all five were soon in the water paddling and splashing about.

Roy put Jill's lingering fears to rest by clambering up on the dock to dive gracefully back in. At the sight of his black boxer shorts, Polly nudged Jill knowingly. Jill sputtered and tried to act as though she hadn't been expecting to get an eyeful, while the other three boys snickered.

After a short but rather exuberant splashing fight, Roy dragged himself back onto the dock and leaned back on his elbows in the sun, hoping Riza had taken advantage of the distractions to get out of the water and find a drier place to hide. A moment later, Peter hauled himself up to sit beside Roy.

"So how'd you find this place, anyhow? I thought it was something of a town secret," he asked Roy. He didn't seem at all put out, just curious, and so Roy pursed his lips and told him as much of the truth as he could without compromising Riza.

"I didn't even know it was here until today. When I left the house, I was just thinking about finding a nice cool clearing somewhere in the shade. But then I saw the water, and I couldn't resist having a swim," he explained.

"Lucky find, then," Peter smiled. Roy smiled back, liking Peter more each moment. "We don't really come out here that much, either. Technically, the lake's on Master Hawkeye's property, so I suppose you've more right to it than any of us actually do," Peter said, nodding in the direction of his friends and relatives.

They'd started a game that looked like some sort of modified version of blind man's bluff. Chancing a glance down the shore while Peter's attention was elsewhere, Roy noticed that the clump of reeds Riza had been hiding in _was_ now empty. He wondered whether she'd hidden in the woods or simply headed for home. Realizing that Peter was still talking, he turned his attention back to the older boy.

"Ever since Mrs. Hawkeye died, no one ever comes out here," he was saying. "It seemed a waste, so sometimes we sneak out here on the really hot days. Some of the guys are kinda worried about getting caught, but…well, Master Hawkeye's habits are pretty notorious, and so we decided to chance it…" he trailed off, watching Roy from the corner of his eye. Ah, was that what he was on about?

"I doubt he'd mind if he did find you all out here," Roy reassured him. "But I won't mention it to him, if you'd rather I didn't." Peter's wary expression cleared.

"Thanks, mate. Say, the doc told my dad and me about what you did for Miss Hawkeye, a few months back. I just wanted to say I think that's real decent of you, helping her out like that." Roy flushed at the praise.

"It wasn't anything special," he demurred, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyone would have done the same in my place." But Peter was shaking his head.

"No, they wouldn't have. I mean, I met a few of the other boarding pupils, here and there. Those that pulled their heads out of their books long enough to even notice the kid needed a hand probably would've been the same ones who'd put her in that condition in the first place," he said, his kind features hardening slightly. Roy's fists clenched reflexively.

"Miss Hawkeye mentioned that some of them picked on her," he said, grinding his teeth. He saw the fleeting expression of surprise on the older boy's face. "I didn't want to upset her by asking too many questions, but I did wonder whether any of them had actually hurt her."

Peter stared at him for a long minute, before glancing back to the lake. The other teens were still playing their game, although Edmund seemed to be 'it' now instead of Harry. Peter kept his eyes focused on his little brother as he spoke.

"Dr. James is the only doctor around, for miles and miles," he said softly. "And he's had to fix her up more than once. He never breathed a word to anyone about it, ya know. Confidential and all that. But we ain't blind. Little girl turns up at his door with a broken wrist or a black eye, we notice. And it's definitely not her daddy beatin' on her. If it were, then the doc would have driven right over there and made a hell of a fuss over it, alchemist or no. That's the kind of man he is," he said, his tone gruffly affectionate.

"I knew I liked him," Roy murmured. Peter shot him a quick smile.

"Anyway, each time she wound up hurt, one of them students would turn up at the train station the next morning with all his things, lookin' like he'd had the fear of God put into him. Never to be seen nor heard from again. But it still happened more often than it should've, if you ask me," he finished.

"No, it never should've happened at all," Roy agreed, balling his fists and thinking of a pair of wide, fearful brown eyes. He looked over at Peter again. "But why are you telling me all this?"

Peter shrugged, pursing his lips a little.

"The Hawkeyes are a bit…different. From the rest of us, I mean. Not that they act hoighty toity about it, but they ain't quite the same as the other folks around here, and we all know it. Even so, that don't mean that we don't care about 'em. I guess I just don't want you thinking we'd let a little kid get picked on without having something to say about it."

Roy nodded slowly.

"I should probably be offended by what you're implying," he said after a moment. "But as it happens, I'm glad someone else is looking out for her. She's a sweet kid, and she deserves better than what those little bastards put her through," he said. "I consider her a friend. I'd never do anything to hurt her." The two boys stared at each other for a moment, and then Peter nodded and stuck out his hand.

"I really am glad to have met you," Peter said, as they shook hands.

"Me, too," Roy said. "I, uh, didn't have the best first impression of the other kids around here." Peter raised his eyebrows, and Roy grinned. "You may want to ask your friend Harry about that one." Peter grinned back at him.

"Ah, you had a run in with Tom Granger and Rick Shepherd, didn't you? They can, um, come on a little strong. Sorry about that. But you know, you're welcome to hang out with us anytime," he said, gesturing to the group in the lake. "And Miss Hawkeye, too, if she wanted," he added a little shyly.

"Thanks. I'll make sure she knows that. I should probably be getting back soon, though," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "I've already been here longer than I meant to be."

He waved goodbye to the others, pulling on his trousers to choruses of: "see you around!" and "don't be a stranger!" Scooping Riza's shoes into the bag with the forgotten sandwiches, he made his escape and plunged into the trees, wondering where Riza had gone and whether she'd heard any of what Peter had been saying.

Just as he was starting to think he'd gotten himself lost, Riza dropped gracefully out of the tree right in front of him, and he jumped about a foot in the air.

"Riza! Cripes, you gave me a heart attack!" he cried.

"Sorry," she smiled. "I was starting to wonder whether you were coming."

"Well since our swim lesson failed miserably, I thought we could at least salvage the picnic," he said, holding up the bag with one hand and fishing out her shoes with the other. She took them gratefully and slipped them on.

"I wouldn't call it a complete failure," she admonished. "I feel quite certain that I could survive any number of basement floods, now." Roy pretended to throw the thermos at her, and she ducked behind the tree, laughing.

"All right, you," he said fondly. "I'm starving; is there a place nearby we can relax for a bit? Since the lake was taken over by hostile forces?"

"Yes, this way," she said, already leading the way back into the woods. "Though I wouldn't call the Kingsley boys 'hostile,' really…"

"Peter seemed a decent sort," Roy prompted, curious about Riza's take on her neighbors.

"He really is. Something of a golden boy: hard worker, good at sports, charming but humble, strong moral principles…beloved by all, in general," she said, dropping onto a large rock in a pleasantly shady clearing as she finished.

"Huh. No wonder his brother looked sour. Hard to live in the shadow of a guy like that," Roy mused, settling down beside her.

"You mean Edmund?" Riza asked, handing Roy his sandwich. "He's not a bad sort, either. Just quieter and more reserved. He's very clever, but keeps a lot to himself, I think. I'm not always sure what to make of him, but I do know he's got a good heart."

"Hopefully they'll be a good influence on our good friend Harry," Roy said as he unwrapped his sandwich. Riza frowned a little.

"He doesn't normally hang around the Kingsleys, actually. But now that you mention it, I think that has more to do with the presence of Miss Jill and Miss Polly," she replied.

"Faint heart never won fair maiden?" Roy said, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that," Riza acknowledged with a faint smirk. "It's probably a good thing you left when you did. Otherwise you'd have ended up in another ridiculous brawl over a girl."

"Oh god, you're right," Roy laughed. "They'd have stormed the estate with pitchforks and torches for sure, this time. But hey, at least we know to avoid the lake on hot days now," he added.

"We don't have to avoid it so much as dress _appropriately_ the next time," she countered. "Thanks for covering for me, by the way. If anyone had seen me looking like that, I may have had to endure another of Mrs. Davis's lectures."

"Another—? What on earth did you do to earn the first one?" Roy asked, shocked. Riza flushed.

"She meant well. She took it upon herself to, um…well. When I turned twelve…she decided that someone should _explain_ certain things to me…" Roy choked on a snort of laughter, and Riza covered her pink face with her hands. "It just kept going on and on," she mumbled. "I couldn't look her in the eye for months."

"It can't possibly have been as bad as The Talk my aunt gave me," Roy protested. "She had diagrams and anatomy charts and everything."

"Mrs. Davis invited me over to make bread one afternoon. She didn't need _diagrams_, because she rolled the dough into _shapes_ to illustrate her points," Riza said, looking up at last.

"Dear lord. Ok, yeah, you win," Roy conceded. "Bread dough," he snorted again, rising to his feet and brushing the crumbs from his trousers.

"I don't think it's possible to actually kill someone by extreme embarrassment, but Mrs. Davis sure gave it her best shot," Riza said, accepting his hand and pulling herself to her feet.

"Yeah, we definitely want to avoid a lecture on propriety from the town busybody," Roy chortled as they walked slowly back to the main path. "Remind me to steer clear of her if we see her in town, won't you?"

"Consider it done," Riza replied with a smile.

* * *

**A.N. An extra-long chapter as a reward for your great patience. Thank you all again so very much for the reviews, follows and favorites! As ever, feedback is very deeply appreciated :)**

**xoxo Janie**


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